Blind Faith
by SashaLikaMusica
Summary: Beca Mitchell is one of the most respectable, well-known dommes in the community. She hadn't been looking for a new sub, and this probably isn't the smartest idea, but she's feeling possessive, her protective instincts are kicking in, and *god*, this ginger's gorgeous. Bechloe, BDSM. Including (not so) side Staubrey.
1. Bound

**A/N: Don't even ask me where this came from.**

 **Rating: M**

 **Word count: 14,250 (exactly!)  
**

 **Pairing: Bechloe with a side of Staubrey**

 **Warnings: BDSM-based content, though not so much in this first chapter. Don't like it, don't read.**

* * *

She's heading into a bar when she notices it, and at first, she dutifully pays it no mind. The bar – some trashy Irish Pub located in Queens – resides halfway down a side street that's definitely one of the shadier ones in the neighborhood. Her first instinct is to assume that the sound is issuing from a homeless person, a junkie, or a couple that decided it was okay to have sex in plain sight. Not wanting to come into close contact with any of the former, Beca pretends not to notice, and doesn't break her stride as she continues towards the door, tucking her purse firmly between her elbow and her side for extra security.

Then as she's approaching the door somebody opens it to leave, and the dirty florescent light from the pub spills onto the street. It's at that moment that the muffled sound comes again, and Beca glances to right automatically to find the source.

Her heart sinks as she registers what she's looking it.

A woman is huddled on her knees on the concrete, blindfolded and shivering. The way she's bent over shields the front of her body, but Beca can see enough to tell that she's not wearing a stitch of clothing. Her hands are held behind her back, tied with what looks like a piece of fraying rope, and she has a ball gag stuffed in her mouth.

Beca almost wishes that she didn't, but she knows immediately what has happened to this stranger.

Paying no mind to the fact that the jeans she's wearing are expensive, not to mention favorites, she steps away from the pub entrance and kneels on the gritty pavement beside the girl. Carefully, she reaches behind the woman's head and in a swift motion that reveals her expertise, she unties both the blindfold and the gag. Before the girl has even opened her eyes, she removes the ball from her mouth and tosses both over her shoulder in the direction of a nearby dumpster.

Stiff eyelids flutter open, and Beca is staring into wide, shocking blue. She blinks away the funny shiver that goes through her at the contact and speaks. She is surprised to hear that her voice is calm and steady.

"Where are they?" The girl blinks, her electric eyes filled with an emotion somewhere between confusion and uncertainty, and Beca understands. "Tell me where they are, and when they're going to come back and get you." It isn't a request; it's a command, and Beca sees a shiver of relief run through the stranger at the new tone. At the nonverbal confirmation of what she already knew to be true, the urge to act against the situation rises in her, but she pushes it down momentarily in favor of learning the facts. She suspects that the need to take action will present itself to her once she hears the woman's answer, but if it doesn't, she has no right to interfere.

"At a client's, ma'am. He didn't say when he'd be back, but it's usually hours." There it is; further confirmation that prompts Beca to take action. She had purposefully avoided specifying a gender when she asked, and hadn't inquired as to whether this woman's predicament was a regular occurrence, but the response is all she needs to make her decision.

"Turn around; give me your wrists," she orders, and the girl only hesitates briefly before obeying. It's further proof of what Beca has already guessed; if it's so easy for this girl to respond to a stranger, she has nearly every right to do what she's about to do. When she slices through the knot in the rope – nylon, she notes with disgust, and frayed at that – the girl keeps her hands held behind her back only for a moment before bringing them around her body to rub ruefully at her bruised wrists. They've got deep indents in them from where the rope dug in, and judging by the winces that occur as the flesh is rubbed back to life, some circulation was definitely cut off. Beca's throat constricts with anger.

"How long have you been tied like that?" she questions coolly, and the woman keeps her eyes lowered as she answers.

"Since this morning, ma'am."

"When this morning?"

"About ten thirty." Beca bites her tongue to restrain her fury. This is _not_ acceptable.

"Your master didn't notice they were hurting?" she shoots back. A slow shake of the head is the initial response, but then the girl looks up abruptly. Her eyes are wide.

"How – how did you – " Beca cuts her off by holding her hand out, brandishing a ring with a triple ying-yang symbol emblazoned on it in black and white.

"Beca Mitchell. Seven years in the lifestyle," she responds gruffly, and sees the way that the girl's tight shoulders immediately drop a little of their tension. "What is your name, pet?" The woman bites her lip.

"He doesn't allow me to be called by it. He says having an identity counters my subservience," she whispers. Beca's blood boils, and she grips the girl's chin firmly to turn her head back towards her.

"That is not proper handling. An identity is critical to one's ability to bond. I'll ask you again: what is your name?" Cobalt eyes flicker upwards.

"Chloe, ma'am."

"That's not your full name."

"Chloe Roderick Beale."

"Thank you. Now, I have one more question to ask you, and I need you to answer truthfully, no matter how uncomfortable it makes you. Do you understand?" Chloe Beale nods, and though her blue eyes glint with anxiety, the movement is firm. "I need you to say it, Chloe."

"Yes ma'am, I understand," Chloe whispers. Beca meaningfully holds her gaze.

"Did your master buy you, or are you free to leave his control?" Chloe flinches uncomfortably at the question, but when she responds, her tone holds only honesty.

"I wasn't bought, ma'am." Beca nods and stands.

"Good. Come with me." Chloe looks up wildly, her bright eyes a mixture of fear and confusion.

"Ma'am? I don't understand – my master left me here – he told me to wait for him – I – "

"Your master is undeserving of your company," Beca says coldly. Half of her can't help hoping that the bastard will hear and attempt to make a protest – she would _love_ to ream him out for the situation he's created. "He is also clearly incompetent and shouldn't be permitted to call himself a master. It is unacceptable to leave a submissive unattended in public, not to mention naked and bound, and when you add the temperature to that, it becomes an act of cruelty. Don't even get me started on the gag and the blindfold; if you had been injured, or caught in an otherwise compromising position, how were you supposed to summon help? You're lucky that I heard your attempt to speak; who knows how long you might have been left here otherwise? In addition to that, he tied your bonds too tightly and with the wrong material; if you had been left any longer, blood would have entirely ceased to flow to your hands and you might have sustained real damage. This is a violation of the code of this community and serious abuse of a submissive, not to mention a violation of your trust. I would be unfit to call myself a member of the community if I permitted you to remain in that man's possession any longer." Beca's chest is heaving by the time she concludes her tirade, and the fire in her eyes has grown into full-blown fury. The entire time she was speaking, she had been watching Chloe for a negative response, but right now all she sees in the submissive's eyes is awe. The sight of it does something to her, and she clears her throat loudly before offering a hand and giving a beckoning jerk of her head.

"Come. I will bring you somewhere warm, and we will discuss where to go from here." When Chloe doesn't move, she crouches back down before the girl and uses a single fingertip to tilt her chin upwards. "Chloe," she says seriously, aware that she may have just pushed boundaries that, considering the circumstances, are important to be aware of. "Are you willing to come with me to a warm place where I will attend to you so that we may discuss your options?"

Chloe's face is contorted with something that looks a lot like distress, but she manages a nod.

"I need verbal acknowledgment, Chloe." Chloe swallows, and her throat bobs against an old, tattered collar that Beca hadn't noticed before.

"Yes, ma'am, I'll go with you." Beca permits a small smile to flit across her lips.

"Good. Can you stand?" She's well aware that after being trapped in a kneeling position for so long, Chloe's legs may have begun to numb. Her suspicions prove accurate when Chloe begins to nod, but then hesitantly turns it into a shake of her head.

"I – I don't know, ma'am. I can't really feel my legs," she admits, shifting her body a little to test her range of movement. Beca nods her acknowledgment.

"All right. Put your hands on my shoulders," she instructs, and Chloe obeys. "Now try to stand." The submissive slowly unfolds her legs from beneath her, revealing the imprints on her knees where they have been pressed into the pavement all night. She gives a valiant attempt at raising herself to her feet, but ends up using Beca for support to fully regain her footing. Beca is surprised to see that despite how small she had seemed when huddled on the ground, Chloe is a good deal taller than she. Once she is steady enough that Beca is convinced she won't fall, the brunette reaches up and unbuckles the collar around her throat. She tosses it carelessly behind her, and Chloe gasps.

"Right now, you are not a slave," she explains, seeing shock grace the taller girl's features. "We are equals unless you decide that you wish to submit to me. Furthermore, I see no reason for you continuing to wear that collar when its owner is no longer your master." She is surprised to see Chloe nod vigorously in agreement to that logic.

"Yes, thank you, ma'am." Beca frowns.

"You may call me Beca for the time being," she adds seriously. Chloe smiles shyly. She ducks her head.

"Thank you, Beca."

It takes a minute for Beca to maneuver them through the narrow side street and into the tiny space where she managed to squeeze her car earlier in the evening. When she unlocks it, she notices Chloe hovering near the rear door as if unsure of where to go, and she smiles encouragingly.

"You can sit up front with me, Chloe," she offers, and Chloe shoots her a thankful yet hesitant smile.

"Ma'am?"

"What did I say you could call me?" Chloe's shoulders drop slightly.

"You said that I could call you Beca, ma'am. But I don't think I can. And I don't know if I can sit in the front." Beca fastens a hard stare onto her and raises an eyebrow. Honestly, she's not all that surprised, but the knowledge she has gained this evening has instilled in her a need to make clear that the rules are different in her presence.

"Why is that, Chloe?" Her tone isn't cold, but enough of her powerful persona sneaks in that her words come across as a demand. She's not entirely certain that they aren't.

Chloe's gaze stays fastened on the pavement as she speaks.

"I – I don't know, ma'am. I think I'm just so used to this mindset that I don't know how to get away from it. It'll probably take me a little while to adjust. I know that you don't require me to refer to you respectfully, but I _feel_ like I need to. I wish I could call you Beca, but I can't right now. Not yet. I'm sorry." Beca sees her eyelids flutter rapidly as she blinks backs tears, and her heart softens. Despite never having been in the exact position that Chloe is in right now, she's lived enough of the lifestyle to understand almost exactly what conflict is taking place in the young woman's head. When she considers that alongside the compromising position that Chloe is already in, she makes up her mind not to push the issue too hard for the night.

"All right, Chloe," she says finally after a minute of consideration. Chloe's head lifts a little at the sound of her resigned tone, and she opens her mouth, perhaps to apologize, but Beca continues before she can protest. "You may use whatever name you're comfortable with for me tonight. I won't push you to address me on a level you're not yet accustomed to. However," she adds with a narrowing of her eyes. "I will insist that you sit in the front of the car with me. The backseat is for children and people who have not earned the privilege of sitting beside a master." Chloe's bright eyes brim with confusion.

"But – ma'am – I _haven't_ earned that privilege," she points out bewilderedly. Beca shakes her head.

"No, you haven't," she acquiesces. "Not by doing anything specifically worthy of such an honor. But you have had a rough night – perhaps more than a night – and because you have been nothing but good throughout my entire experience with you, and since you are in a less than ideal situation, I believe you have earned it in another way. Besides," she raises her voice slightly when Chloe opens her mouth again to protest. "It is my desire to have you sit beside me. Would you deny me that?" Her words are a challenge that Chloe, with her present mindset and instincts, can't rise up to. The gravity behind the brunette's words has an immediate effect, and Chloe lowers her eyes respectfully.

"No, ma'am. I wouldn't. I will sit beside you." When Beca smiles it isn't quite wide enough to be comforting, but the look is genuine.

"Thank you," she says simply, and leans past Chloe to tug the door open. She doesn't miss the way that the taller girl shudders as the back of her hand brushes across bare skin. She conceals her grin expertly and gestures towards the seat. "Well. In you go."

Chloe's scramble to obey is so immediate that it brings another grin to Beca's lips. She forces it down in favor of a curt nod, and strides rapidly around to the driver's side door with what she desperately hopes is a collected, professional mask firmly in place. Judging by the curious look on Chloe's face when she enters the car, it's not, but she dutifully pretends that nothing is out of order as she starts the car. She pauses with her foot halfway to the gas when she realizes that her companion is not strapped in.

"Chloe, put your seatbelt on, please," she requests, too busy fiddling with the heater to look. When the order isn't immediately obeyed, she frowns. "Chloe?" She looks up from the dials to see Chloe biting her lip, crystal eyes darting nervously back and forth between Beca and her own lap. "Chloe, what's wrong? There's still a lot I want to talk to you about once we get going. I'm not a serial killer, I promise, but if you don't strap in, I can't bring you somewhere warm." Chloe raises her eyes anxiously to Beca's face.

"I – I'm allowed to put one on?" is her shaky query, and Beca nearly slams a hand on the dashboard in anger. If she hadn't been aware of it before, Chloe's question makes her painfully certain of just the sort of man she's being rescued from. It makes her insides fairly quake with fury, but she masks it for the sake of the woman next to her and responds as coolly as she thinks she can manage given the cold knot that's settled in the bottom of her stomach.

"Of course you're allowed to put it on; it's the law," she replies smoothly, and doesn't watch as Chloe struggles to operate the seatbelt for a minute before managing it and falling immediately still once more. She lets the silence sit for the moment, knowing that a small break from struggling with what she's been taught is what Chloe needs right now.

They've been driving for not quite five minutes when, to her surprise, it is the other girl that breaks the silence.

"Where are you taking me?" It's a viable question. Beca has been attempting to keep up the highest possible level of professionalism since the beginning of their encounter, and she knows that vagueness has a tendency to go alongside it. Chloe is right to wonder; nothing has been revealed to her so far besides the fact that she won't be returning to her old master tonight. Or any other night, for that matter.

"To my house," Beca responds, merging off a side street onto a larger, bustling avenue.

"Where's your house?"

"Staten Island."

"Seriously?" Beca bites her lip in an attempt not to laugh at the awe in Chloe's voice. She pretends not to notice the slip from submissive to casual, and notes vaguely that if she can continue tripping her companion up with similar reactions, maybe they can eventually progress to a stage where the other woman no longer feels the need to address her as a slave would a master.

"Seriously. My house isn't that expensive, though, and I share it off and on with a friend of mine whenever she needs a place to crash. She tends to sort of float back and forth between my place and another friend's, so I've got an extra bedroom set aside for her whenever she feels the need to stay."

"You just let her show up whenever?" Chloe seems to have lost her filter in her awe over the situation. Beca starts to nod, but corrects herself partway through the motion.

"Yes and no. She has a key, but it's kind of a mutual agreement that she'll call me before she shows up just so that I can be prepared. We've caught each other in enough compromising position that we've agreed to check with each other before we come home." She notices the blush that creeps up Chloe's cheeks out of the corner of her eye, and has to physically restrain herself from smirking knowingly. Chloe resettles a moment later, however, shaking away the warmth that blossomed temporarily in her cheeks, and resumes her questioning.

"So, what do you do for a living, if you don't mind my asking?" Beca sighs. She had been hoping on some level that her career wouldn't be brought up tonight. It's something that she'd rather discuss when her mind isn't occupied with her other lifestyle. She prides herself on her ability to keep her work and her private life separate, and one of her rules is that unless it's critically important, she won't discuss work during the rest of her life, or vice versa.

Nevertheless, for Chloe she feels she needs to make an exception. There is something oddly important to her about gaining the woman's trust, if she doesn't have it to a marginal degree already, and with trust comes admissions. She can sacrifice her rules this once.

"I'm a music producer," she says simply. "I'm also a DJ when I'm not working in the studio or counseling one-on-one with artists. I do gigs at private clubs, sponsored events; that sort of thing." She can fairly feel Chloe's awe grow tenfold, and holds back yet another grin despite herself. It's not an uncommon reaction, but for some reason, Chloe's appreciation settles with her in a way that most people's doesn't. She wonders if it's because the sentiment is genuine.

"That's – that's really cool, Beca." The grin threatens to break through again, and this time she allows it. She spares a quick glance at her passenger when she's sure the road is clear.

"You used my name." Chloe blushes again, but her reply is steady.

"Yes, I did."

"Why?"

"You make me feel like I can. Comfortable. I don't feel that disapproving weight coming from you. It's weird; I've never quite felt it before."

"Oh?" Beca asks vaguely, aware that it's not an appropriate response, but too curious to formulate a proper reply.

"No. It's a funny feeling. It's like when I used to be around my friends all the time in college; we weren't masters and slaves; none of us were above the others. We were just normal people interacting. That's what it feels like. I'd forgotten. But it feels nice." Beca shoots her a sharp glance.

"What do you mean you've forgotten?" she questions, and knows enough to understand that if Chloe weren't opening up, as she seemed to be doing, she probably would have flinched at the harsh tone. "How long has it been since you've interacted with people without slave and master segregation?" She's not really sure she wants to know, and when Chloe tells her, she's sure of it.

"Since the summer after senior year, so about . . . two years? Two and a half, give or take a few months." Beca's grip on the steering wheel tightens.

"That is _not_ acceptable," she spits out before she can stop herself. Once she registers what she's said, she waits expectantly for Chloe to recoil, but the girl surprisingly remains steady. Maybe it's the admission that she enjoys the normal conversation, or maybe she can sense that Beca isn't angry with her. Either way, she remains stunningly casual for someone who is sitting naked in a stranger's car after being discovered bound and gagged in an alleyway.

"I know."

"You _know_ _?_ Then why did you allow it?" All right, she takes it back – maybe she _is_ a little irritated at Chloe, but it's only for the fact that she clearly hasn't been taking care of herself.

"I mean, I guess I know. I've been wrapped up in this lifestyle for so long that I've started to accept my role in it as normal, and my interactions with people as regular contact. I guess I knew in the back of my mind that something was a little off, but it didn't register with me that there was another option. I'd forgotten that, too." Beca has to draw blood biting her tongue to refrain from replying immediately and saying something that will most certainly make the situation worse. She can't believe this; she's seen cases where submissives retreat temporarily into full submissive mode, but never anything so permanent. It's not healthy, it's not _right_ , and it makes her blood boil.

"It looks like you've got some remembering to do," she says finally, when she thinks she's able to keep her voice calm. Chloe only hums in agreement before turning her eyes to watch the city pass out the car window. A few minutes later, though, her curiosity appears to have returned. She watches Beca so intently that the brunette almost feels uncomfortable beneath her unabashed gaze.

"How old are you?"

"It's rude to ask that, you know."

"I know. But you don't look old enough to be self-conscious about it yet, and I'll tell you my age if you tell me yours. Besides, I think I'm older than you, anyways." Beca grunts.

"Twenty-three."

"See? I'm twenty-seven. I knew I was older."

"You said you graduated two and a half years ago. How are you twenty-seven?"

"I graduated late. I intentionally failed Russian Lit three years in a row."

"Any particular reason why?"

"No. I just didn't want to be an adult yet. My professor understood, but after the third time, he told me that if I tried it again the next year, he'd pass me just to get me out of his hair. So I actually did a little homework, and he said that my writing was abysmal but at least I could translate, so he gave me a B and told me to grow some balls and graduate." Beca scoffs slightly at that. Somehow, the statement doesn't shock her in the least. She wonders if she's getting too comfortable here, because she can definitely feel this conversation slipping into casual friendship chatter.

A huge part of her doesn't mind.

"You read Russian, huh?"

"Not well, silly. Weren't you listening? I failed three times in a row." They've officially progressed to nicknames now, and Beca is shocked by how quickly Chloe has acclimated to her presence. Whatever she was expecting when she urged the meek girl into her car, it wasn't this. If she didn't know better, she'd say that Chloe had forgotten all the previous event of the evening.

"We're on Staten Island now. Where's your house?" She's starting to think that Chloe's a little insane; ten minutes ago, there's no way that she would have been this pushy and available. She wonders if it will go away when they leave the car and the reality of their predicament is re-established. The bubbly personality doesn't quite seem realistic; it's too much all at once, too forced, and Beca is willing to bet that it's only temporary. She's seen similar cases before, and likens it to the effects of adrenaline when a bone is broken; momentary painlessness, and then crashing agony once the recognition of the injury has set in.

"Right here." She grins at the wide-eyed expression that fills Chloe's face as she takes in their location. Beca's pulled off the road into a short driveway that leads to what can only be described as a mini mansion – two floors, but massive, decorated with stonework architecture, gables, and gigantic windows that overtake much of the front of the building.

" _Here?_ You live _here?_ How much money do you _make?_ " Beca can't interpret the sudden irritation that fills her, but she attributes it to her previous recognition of the instability of Chloe's cheeriness. She feels the sternness click in her eyes as her domme persona settles back over her.

"That's not an appropriate question to ask, Chloe," she snaps harshly, fixing the older girl with a stony glare, and Chloe shrinks visibly under the look. Instantaneously, the cheery persona vanishes, and the meek, anxious girl from the alley has returned. Beca can practically see the tension overtaking slim shoulders, and she immediately feels guilty watching the way Chloe folds in on herself. The shift is almost painful to watch.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. I didn't – I didn't mean to be rude – I just – I felt so comfortable talking to you, but I only did it because you kept responding to it, and then I couldn't stop because it's been so long since I spoke that way. I don't know what came over me." Before she can register her own actions, Beca is unbuckling her seatbelt and leaning over the center console to rub soothingly at Chloe's upper arms.

"Shhh, hey; it's all right. I'm sorry I snapped at you; I shouldn't have let my dominant side come without screening it first. I understand why you did it." Chloe looks up at her with huge, baleful blue eyes, and Beca's reasons for apologizing are reiterated.

"You're not mad?"

"No, Chloe, I'm not mad. However, I am concerned about you, and I think that we need to remedy that." She pauses momentarily, allowing her eyes to drift critically up and down the girl's skinny frame. Chloe doesn't appear to be perturbed by the scrutiny. "You're tiny," Beca declares after a moment, and she sees a giggle fight to escape from Chloe's mouth. It's not as though she's really one to be talking. "You're very thin, I mean," she rectifies, and Chloe frowns.

"That's not a good thing, ma'am?" Beca purses her lips.

"It's a good thing when it's a healthy kind of skinny. You haven't been eating enough, and you've dropped below what is clearly a healthy weight for you." Chloe's frown deepens; her eyebrows knit together as though she doesn't quite understand.

"But I've been so tired lately," she puzzles aloud. "Doesn't that mean that I'm lazy and need to work harder?" Beca's chest clenches uncomfortably, but she pushes the feeling aside to answer.

"No, Chloe," is her firm response. "It means that you aren't consuming the nourishment you need to keep your energy level up. When was the last time you had a warm, home-cooked meal?" Chloe's full lips pout out as she thinks, and Beca feels a flutter in her belly that has nothing to do with worry over the girl's condition.

"I don't know," Chloe says slowly, and it looks like her brain hasn't quite caught up with her mouth. "I guess that I – Thanksgiving?" she hazards a guess. Her words cause steely determination to fall instantly over Beca's face.

"That is unacceptable; we're changing that. We're going inside, and once I get you settled, I'm making you some proper food." As she speaks, the domme studies the face before her. Chloe's features are riddled with complexity, the lingering anxiety and fear in her eyes overtaken for the most part by curiosity and something a little like eagerness. Beca has never felt such an intense need to understand the workings of emotion behind an expression before, and when she considers it, it turns her own angst up a notch. The domme side of her knows that she's fully equipped to handle this, but the _Beca_ side doesn't, and at the moment she's not entirely certain of which side is going to come further forward.

Chloe is speaking, and the sound of her voice pulls Beca away from her mind's wanderings.

"You don't have to do that for me, ma'am. I'll be all right on my own. I didn't mean to monopolize your time; if I can only borrow a change of clothes, I'll get out of your way as soon as I can. I'll be just fine." Beca is glaring at her with the full force of her dominant will before she realizes what she's doing. Chloe's head bows automatically at the look, and it makes something in Beca's heart twist.

"You will _not_ ," she snaps louder than she intends to. "You've been neglected, and so far as I can tell, you hardly even _realize_ it. Now, not only is it my duty as a domme to rectify a situation in which a submissive has been unfairly treated, but I also would not be able to justify it to myself if I didn't take care of you. It is not merely my role in this society that necessitates me taking action; it is a personal need, and I _request_ that you comply with that, lest you'd like to be returned to a situation where you may or may not be fairly treated." By the time she's finished, Chloe's eyes have found hers again, and they're filled with an unidentifiable sentiment that has Beca's pulse hammering through her ears.

"I'm sorry, ma'am; I didn't realize that it was so important to you. I didn't mean to question you," Chloe says contritely. "It's just that no one has ever done for me what you have, and what you say you're going to do, and I guess I just don't understand why you're doing it." Beca feels her entire body soften at the admission; her posture relaxes, and she offers a warm smile.

"I don't entirely know, Chloe," she replies honestly. "But I know that as a domme, seeing someone neglected instantly releases an urge to care for them. Not only to see them cared for, but to be the one who tends to their needs. And you . . . I don't know precisely how to explain it, but something about you only amplifies that need. Don't ask me to explain that; please just trust that I will do my utmost to make you comfortable and content, as it is both my duty and my desire to do so." A small smile is twitching at the corner of Chloe's lips by the time she is finished speaking, and the sight of it warms something within Beca that she's not sure she was previously aware of. She allows her own lips to curve in response and sends the older girl a comforting look before stepping from the car and striding quickly around to open the passenger side door. She extends a hand in offering and Chloe takes it, keeping her eyes lowered demurely as she rises. Both women appear to have forgotten to an extent the condition Chloe was in before her discovery, and so it comes as a slight surprise to both of them when Chloe stumbles and nearly loses her footing, forced to grab the car door quickly for balance.

Beca is at her side immediately, wrapping a supportive arm around the thin waist. Despite the fact that Chloe is several inches taller, the brunette manages to steady her almost instantly, bearing most of the submissive's weight as she holds her up. Chloe raises her eyes as she shoots Beca a grateful yet embarrassed smile.

"I'm sorry," she apologizes, and, having gained her balance, attempts to pull away. She is surprised by Beca tightening her arm around her ribs and tugging her back into the support of her body. "I'm all right, ma'am," she adds softly, and it's clear that she's unwilling to present herself as a burden to her companion. Beca shakes her head.

"No you're not; your body is weak and tense from being locked in a cuffed position all day. I'm sorry I forgot; I should never have let you try to stand on your own. It's my fault." When she sees Chloe open her mouth to protest, she sends her a sharp, weighted look. "Don't argue with me, Chloe; I assure you I will win. Besides, I'm concerned about you. You wouldn't want to make me upset, would you?" Chloe considers her options for a brief moment before shaking her head. Beca nods sternly. "That's what I thought. Now, would you like to try walking with my support, or shall I carry you inside?" Her tone leaves no room for argument. She is satisfied when Chloe seems to immediately grasp that she has no other options. Bright eyes fall to the ground submissively.

"I'd like to try to walk, ma'am. I think I would feel too helpless if you carried me." Beca nods understandingly.

"Thank you for being honest with me, Chloe. Now, I'm going to try to shield you with my body as much as I can as we walk, all right? We do have a privacy fence but if one of the neighbors is looking out of an upper story window, I'll have no way of hiding the fact that you are naked. Are you all right with that? If not, I can run inside quickly and get you a coat to wear." Chloe shakes her head the negative.

"No thank you, ma'am. I – I'd like to get inside as quickly as possible, if that's all right with you. I'm not sure how much longer I can keep standing."

"Of course," Beca replies instantly. "Now hold on to me tightly, and be sure to tell me if you think your legs are going to give out." Chloe gives a feeble nod, and then no more words are exchanged as they slowly make their way up the driveway.

As they walk, Beca tries valiantly to ignore the feeling of Chloe pressed so tightly against her. She herself is almost completely covered in her dark jeans and long-sleeved shirt, but Chloe, despite having been left out in the cold for hours, is unbelievably _warm_ , and the heat that presses through her clothes and into her skin is a little overwhelming. Add to that the recognition of the fact that Chloe is completely _naked_ , and Beca's ashamed to admit that she's having more than a bit of trouble controlling her reactions. She's thankful that her need to care for Chloe is taking precedence at the moment; she's a little afraid of what might happen when that need is satisfied.

When they reach the front door, Beca fumbles for a moment in her pocket for the key, trying to keep her grip on Chloe firm. It takes a moment, but she manages to unlock the door, and she calls out as they step inside the warm entry.

"Stace? You home?"

"In the living room!" Beca feels slight relief at the sound of her housemate's voice; she's perfectly capable of tending to Chloe's needs without help, but she needs to be bathed and dressed as well as fed, and she would rather not leave Chloe alone if it can be helped.

"Can you come here for a sec?" There's the sound of distant movement followed by footsteps in the hallway, and then the tall, languorous brunette rounds the corner.

Stacie's jaw drops.

"Beca? What's going on?" Beca feels Chloe stiffen at her side, and runs her free hand soothingly down her upper arm as she replies.

"Chloe here needs dinner and a bath, but she can't walk very well on her own at the moment. I was hoping you could cook something up while I help her out with a shower and some clothes." Her tone warns Stacie very clearly not to question the situation, and the taller woman blinks rapidly before the movement turns into a curt nod.

"Absolutely. What would be appropriate?"

"It's a cold night; something warm would be nice," Beca responds promptly. The professionalism in their tones strikes Chloe as slightly odd, but she makes no comment, choosing instead to lean more heavily on Beca as she feels the strength in her legs draining.

"Not a problem, captain. I'll call you when it's ready." Beca nods her thanks as Stacie turns on her heel and strides off, presumably in the direction of the kitchen. When the woman is out of sight, Beca turns to the girl at her side.

"Chloe? Are you still okay to walk? One of the master bedrooms has an en-suite bathroom with a full tub and shower. Do you think you can make it that far?" Chloe's face is drawn with exhaustion, but she manages a slight jerk of her head in reply.

"Don't worry ma'am; I can walk a little farther," she says softly, and Beca narrows her eyes.

"Are you sure?" she persists, not wanting the girl to agree out of guilt or stubbornness. Chloe raises her eyes to make contact, and though Beca can see the weariness in them, determination is also clear.

"Yes ma'am. I can make it. I'd like to, please," she requests quietly, and the feeble tone swiftly makes Beca acquiesce.

"Very well. Hang on to me, then. It's just down the hall." Chloe doesn't reply, but she makes a distinctive effort to move more determinedly as Beca guides her down the short hallway. She's too focused on staying on her feet to take in much of the décor as they enter the large bedroom, but she notices the minimal yet tasteful decorations and comfortable atmosphere. It takes her a moment to realize that the brunette has most likely brought her to her own room, and she feels a surge of gratitude fill her at the recognition that Beca cares about her enough to bring her into her private space. It's flattering as well as reassuring, and Chloe would remark on it if her attention weren't devoted so intently to staying upright.

That concern disappears when Beca leads her to sit on the floor of the massive en-suite bathroom, turning to surprise when the domme fiddles with the taps for a moment before stripping hastily out of her jeans and shirt, leaving just her bra and panties on as she turns to leave the room. Forgetting her shock at seeing the brunette barely dressed, Chloe feels unwarranted panic set in as Beca begins to leave.

"Wait!" she calls out, struggling to stand, and Beca halts in the doorway in confusion. When she sees Chloe fighting to pull herself to her feet, she quickly crosses back over to the girl and places her hands steadyingly on her shoulders.

"Hey, hey, shhh," she soothes, trying to convey calmness through her eyes. "It's all right. I'm just going to put on a more comfortable change of clothes, and then I'll be back to help you into the tub, all right?" Chloe feels a flush spread up her cheeks as recognition sets in.

"Oh," she mumbles embarrassedly, and feels a short burst of irritation shoot through her when Beca smiles.

"It's all right," the brunette reassures. "I can understand why you panicked. Are you going to be all right if I leave for a moment?" Chloe refuses to meet her gaze, this time out of shame rather than submission.

"Yeah," she mutters grudgingly, and misses the slight grin that spreads across Beca's face at her irritability. "I'll be fine. Sorry." She is startled when a comforting hand strokes briefly down her cheek before Beca stands again and strides quickly from the room. Chloe barely has time to process the touch when the woman is back, dressed now in a tank top and baggy sweatpants with her hair thrown up in a messy bun on top of her head, looking less like a powerful domme and more like a college student headed to an early morning class. The difference is so great that it strikes Chloe as amusing, and a tiny giggle escapes her as she takes in Beca's appearance. Beca's eyes narrow at her reaction.

"What's so funny?" she wants to know, and Chloe bites her lip.

"You just – you look – _different_ ," she tries, hoping that she's not offending the other woman, and she is relieved when Beca permits herself a rueful smile.

"Not exactly like a domme, huh?" she agrees, casting a glance down at her haphazard attire, and Chloe shakes her head with another giggle.

"No." She stops laughing when Beca's expression falls serious.

"Yeah, well, don't underestimate it," she says quietly, and Chloe takes it as a warning even though it probably isn't one. She can't imagine that Beca would grow angry with her over something so petty, but then again, she doesn't exactly _know_ the woman despite what they've been through in the past two hours, so she really has no way of knowing.

"I'm sorry; I hope I didn't offend you," she offers guiltily, bowing her head, and Beca smiles.

"Not at all. In fact, I'm glad to see that my appearance doesn't entirely change the way you respond to my presence," she says lightly before sobering somewhat. "However, I need to reassure you that you will never have a reason to be frightened of me," she says seriously, and Chloe finds herself nodding before she can even register the movement.

"I know," she says simply. It takes her until a moment after the fact to realize that she's telling the truth – she _does_ know that Beca would never give her a reason to fear her, despite having only known her for several hours. When she considers it, she's not quite sure how to feel about that.

Beca doesn't bother to respond as she bends back down beside her, wrapping an arm around her waist again to pull her upright and lead her over to the bathtub. Once she's gotten Chloe settled in the warm water, she gestures to the door.

"I'm going to go get you some clothes," she states, straightening up. "My clothes won't fit you, but I'm sure that I can find something of Stacie's that she'll let me borrow; you're probably close enough to her size. The soap is to your right in the tray, and the shampoo is above your head. There are clean towels on the rack for when you're done, but if you feel like you can't reach them without hurting your back, just call for me and I'll come help you out. All right?" She fastens Chloe with another steady stare, and exits the room on a determined march.

It takes Chloe a little longer than it otherwise might have to get clean, seeing as her joints are tight from being bound all day. It's harder for her to reach up to grab the shampoo off the shelf above her head, and twice she almost calls for Beca, but at last she manages to get her hair washed and the tub drained before tackling the task of reaching for a towel. It almost proves to be too difficult, but something in her is determined not to summon help for this simple task when she's been so demanding already all evening.

Having bathed leaves Chloe feeling fresher and much more energetic, and after wrapping herself in a thick, fluffy towel, she manages to walk shakily over to the bathroom door and peer out into the bedroom. Beca is currently nowhere to be seen, but a pile of neatly folded clothes is sitting on a chair right beside the door. Chloe examines them, and is surprised to see that while the shirt and pants have clearly been worn, the undergarments left to her still have their tags on. And she can't help wondering if Beca has seen situations like hers before. The thought causes a small wave of jealousy to rise within her, but she quickly pushes it aside, reminding herself that even if the thought proves to be true, Beca seems to genuinely care for her wellbeing, and at the moment, that confirmation is all that she needs.

It takes her a minute of awkward balancing to pull on the jeans and dark navy shirt – a long-sleeved V-neck of some material she thinks might be close to cashmere, but that is warm and comfortable and feels a little bit like a cozy blanket that she could curl up and fall asleep in. Being clothed immediately lessens the feeling of vulnerability that she's been harboring all night, and she struggles to remember the last time she was permitted to have her body so covered. It clicks in the back of her mind that that fact should probably be a cause for concern, and it fully strikes Chloe for the first time how thankful she is that Beca found her.

It's not that Mark was . . . abusive, so to speak, but he never quite gave her a comfortable life, and he certainly was never attuned to her needs. He didn't have time for that nonsense, he had told her once, and she had accepted his explanation; it made sense that a man as busy as he wouldn't have the kind of time and energy to devote to his slave as other masters she had seen. He had nearly always left her to fend for herself, sometimes leaving her bound and gagged for hours in public, blindfolded, while he went about the business of visiting his clients.

That had been another thing, the clients, and one that Chloe had never quite been comfortable with, but had tolerated for the sake of maintaining their relationship. She knew that he spent time with other women; he had _told_ her that he did, and she had accepted it for the fact that it made him happy. He had never told her why he did it – whether he simply needed the release or if she wasn't pleasing him enough – but by the end, it had gotten to a point where Chloe had been feeling more than a little neglected. Mark had never taken time for her anymore, and her needs, which he had been more attentive to in the beginning of their relationship, had been pushed to the back burner as he entertained himself with other fancies.

She won't admit it aloud, still not entirely comfortable with the idea, but she had been considering the idea of leaving him recently, right up until the time that Beca had found her. And despite whatever obligations she might feel towards the brunette after being granted so many privileges, she's grateful that Beca has stepped into her life so that the decision is no longer hers to make.

Part of her wonders, even after their brief time together, if surrendering _most_ of her decisions to Beca might not be a wise thing to do.

She's spared the headache of further contemplation when Beca's voice issues from somewhere deeper in the house, calling to Stacie to find more butter, and Chloe straightens her shoulders. Beca told her to wait for her to help her out of the tub, but she's _already_ out, and she doesn't want to make the domme come looking for her if she's occupied with helping her roommate. She decides to go find them.

It takes her a few minutes of weaving back and forth unsteadily through the various hideaways in the cavernous house to find the kitchen, but when she does, it's immediately evident. The room is large and homey, brightly lit with double chandeliers and a droopy array of twinkling Christmas lights strung up in the corners. Stacie, the leggy brunette, is standing at the stove with one hand on her hip and the other holding a wooden spoon like a throwing knife. Beca is on a stool at the center island, bright red with a puff of what looks like flour decorating half of her face. Both are laughing uproariously, and it takes them a moment to notice Chloe, who has paused shyly in the doorway as though waiting for permission to enter the room. When they turn to her, she feels herself blush.

"Chloe!" Beca's tone conveys surprise. "You didn't have to come out here by yourself; I was just about to go help you." Chloe ducks her head uncertainly, not sure where her sudden bashfulness is issuing from, but feeling it radiate from her toes all the way up to the roots of her hair.

"It's all right, ma'am," she assures quietly, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "I didn't want you to feel obligated to help me if you had to help with the cooking." Beca's face is drawn with concern, and Chloe can't ignore the warmth she feels at the woman's newfound lightheartedness, and the way a strand of hair has come loose from her bun and is dangling messily in her face.

"Chloe, you're not an obligation; it's not a burden for me to help you," she says quickly. She's brushing at her clothing in an attempt to make herself more presentable, and Chloe doesn't have the heart to tell her that she has flour all over her face that is essentially ruining the effect.

"I know, but I didn't want to tear you away from your cooking. And besides, I'm feeling a lot better now; I swear," she adds sincerely, when Beca doesn't appear convinced. "The bath and clothes really helped. If you'd like me to, I can leave now; I can find a hotel to stay at for the night and return your clothes to you as soon as I can get some of my own." Almost instantaneously, Beca is in her face, pressing her close to the wall with a hand above her head, effectively preventing her from escaping. The effect is somewhat startling, but Chloe isn't frightened, and she can see in the brunette's gaze that Beca knows it to be true.

"You will _not_ ," the domme hisses out, anger practically dripping from her words. It's not anger with _her_ , Chloe knows, but with the situation that has forced her hand. "You're staying here, where I can make sure that you're taken care of. Once you're fully recovered, you're free to go, but I don't trust someone not to take advantage of you when you're in such a vulnerable state. Freshening up may have temporarily lessened the effect, but you're tired and undernourished, your body is in a weakened state from being tied up for God only _knows_ how long; you've been kept in a mindset where you haven't had to fend for yourself, which has prompted you to forget how to do it, and you have no way of defending yourself from someone who would try to take advantage of you. So if you're through pretending like you're fine, Chloe, then we can sit down and discuss where you're going to go from here." Her eyes, which Chloe is only just noticing are blue, not brown, are steely and challenging, as though daring her to argue, and Chloe knows enough not to bait her with further protests. _God_ , her eyes are gorgeous . . . .

"Chloe!" Beca barks, and Chloe startles and blushes. "Are you listening to me?"

"Shirt," she says stupidly, and Beca raises an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Your eyes are the same color as my shirt. I thought they were brown. I mean, you know, I hadn't really looked yet, but I just _assumed_ they were brown because – "

"Chloe."

"Right. Sorry." She feels her cheeks grow hotter as she stares at the floor.

"Chloe," Beca starts again, and this time, her voice is gentle. "Come sit by me at the counter while Stacie finishes making dinner. I'd like to take a look at your wrists."

"Oh. O – okay," she mumbles awkwardly, allowing Beca to lead her over to the counter, and hears a quiet giggle issue from the other side of the room. Beca's stare turns reproachful.

"Stacie, be nice." The leggy brunette snickers and waves her wooden spoon airily.

"But she's so _cute_ , Becs, I mean, look at her! She's adorable!"

"Stacie! You're making her uncomfortable!"

"But she _is!_ "

"Stacie, the food's burning."

"Shit!" Stacie whirls back around to the stove, only to realize that the pot of water she's been heating for the pasta hasn't even been filled yet. Her eyes narrow. "Bitch." Beca laughs.

"You love it," she taunts easily, turning back to the girl seated across from her. It's when she's prompted to look at her again that she realizes that Stacie's right; Chloe _is_ adorable – or at least somewhere between adorable and drop-dead gorgeous. Earlier, in the car and the alleyway, she had been too occupied with taking control of the situation to really take in Chloe's appearance. Now, with the immediate franticness removed and Chloe in a less compromising position with the addition of clothes, Beca is free to let her eyes wander a little under the guise of checking the woman for ailment. She supposes she shouldn't be surprised at what she finds, but she can't help doing a double take.

Chloe is _gorgeous._

Her frame is thin but womanly, and despite the still slightly uncertain way that she holds herself, Beca notes that she's visibly quite a bit taller than she. Her startling cerulean eyes, already shocking in their brightness, make for a strong contrast with her hair, the color of which Beca hadn't even noticed before. It's still damp where it lies against Stacie's sweater, but she can tell that in its normal state it will be somewhere between curly and wavy. It's also darker due to not yet being entirely dry, but it's a subtle auburn that suits her rather than being overly bright.

Beca feels her mouth dry out just the slightest, and quickly coughs and devotes her attention to examining Chloe's wrists when she realizes that the redhead is watching her quizzically. The hard lines in tender flesh have dissipated somewhat, and she swiftly determines that while they are sure to be uncomfortable for a while, no lasting damage has been done.

"Your wrists might hurt you for a couple of days, but they'll heal," she proclaims aloud, tugging the ginger's sleeves back down. "Are you hurt anywhere else that I don't know about?" She watches Chloe consider for a minute, presumably doing a mental check-up, before she shakes her head.

"No, ma'am, I don't think I am," she says slowly. Beca doesn't remove her gaze.

"You may call me Beca, remember."

"Beca. I'll try," Chloe grants, and Beca knows better than to push her. Instead, she lowers her voice into a conspiratorial whisper.

"You know, Stacie's a domme too," she reveals secretively. "But if you call her anything other than Stacie or Legs, she's not going to be happy. I saw her dunk a guy in a keg once because he tried to call her 'Mistress Stacie.'"

"I heard that," Stacie calls over her shoulder, and Beca is relieved to hear Chloe let out a giggle. "See if you get any ravioli now, Mitchell." Beca sobers immediately.

"You wouldn't."

"I would."

"Don't you dare."

"I guess you'd better be nice, then," Stacie says simply. Beca grumbles, but her eyes light up as Stacie slides two bowls of pasta onto the counter, followed swiftly by a plate of toasted sandwiches and a pot of what smells suspiciously like hot chocolate.

"Sweet!" Stacie smirks at the smaller woman's eagerness.

"See, you love me, Mitchell," she teases lightly, and Beca shoots her a glare before pulling the food possessively towards her.

"Only because you make me food."

"Of course," Stacie grants with a smirk. "Now eat up before it gets cold." Beca doesn't hesitate to do exactly that, but she halts abruptly when she sees that Chloe isn't eating.

"Chloe? You okay there?" The redhead blinks as though coming out of a daze, and Beca suspects that she's not the only one who's a little enthralled.

"Yes ma – I mean, Beca," she corrects herself hastily, and Beca smiles at her around a mouthful of red sauce. "I was just . . . thinking." She looks across the room at Stacie, who has begun loading the dishwasher, and gestures to the food. "Thank you, Stacie. This must have taken a lot of work."

"Nothing to it," Stacie replies breezily, returning with a mug for each girl, which she sets down by the pot of cocoa. "I enjoy a little jaunt in the kitchen, unlike Little Miss Incompetence, here. Did you know she set fire to the microwave the very first day we had it?" Chloe looks uncertain of whether she should laugh or not, and settles for asking how. Upon hearing that Beca had tried to melt ice cream like many a microwave newbie before her, she relaxes and allows herself to laugh quietly.

Dinner progresses without further conversation, the only sounds the clinking of forks against plates and the swishing of the dishwasher in the background. Chloe finds it strangely comforting, an unchanging background of white noise that distracts her from the jabbering hubbub of her brain chatter, and she's almost disappointed when Beca pushes back her plate and leans across the counter. Stacie takes the movement as a cue to clear their dishes, and when Chloe offers to help, she waves her away with a dismissive, "Shortstack wants to talk to you now. You'd better let her unless you want to see the wrath of a tiny person up close." Chloe only offers her a wan smile, feeling uncomfortable beneath the scrutiny of Beca's intense gaze.

"You're staying here for now," Beca declares gruffly after a moment, and Chloe can't decide whether she's relieved or made more uncomfortable by the announcement. "We've decided that already, and I think you've seen enough of us by now to see that we're not serial killers or anything along those lines. So now," she continues seriously, "it's time for you to think about what you're going to do." Chloe goes to swallow nervously but swiftly realizes that her mouth is dry. She grabs her mug to distract herself and takes a large gulp.

"Uh . . . what are my options?" she asks finally, when she realizes that Beca is waiting for her to respond. Beca casts a look at Stacie that the redhead can't interpret before leaning a little closer.

"The situation is this: whether you like it or not, you're staying here for as long as it takes for you to regain your footing in the outside world, and then you can decide where to go from that point. By then we can set you up in a hotel while you figure it out if you'd rather not stay here in the meantime, but after that, your options are these – if you're still interested in living the lifestyle as a sub, Stacie knows people, and she can hook you up with somebody you trust, or we can find you somewhere to stay until you've found someone on your own. If not, we can help you find an apartment and a roommate, and a job if you don't already have one." A quick shake of the head tells Beca the answer, and she continues. "All right. We have a friend, she calls herself Fat Amy, who would be willing to put you up; she's been looking for a roommate for a while now, and I'm sure that she's be more than willing to accommodate you for the time – "

"What if I want to stay here?" Chloe blurts out. Beca freezes, and it's hard to tell for a moment whether it's because of the question or the fact that she was interrupted. After a moment, though, she relaxes somewhat. Chloe's eyes have darted off elsewhere in the meantime, trying to avoid both Beca and Stacie, who is standing stock-still up to her elbows in soapsuds at the sink, and it takes a couple snaps from Beca's fingers to lure her gaze back.

"Do you really want that? Chloe, think about what you're saying."

"I am thinking about it." She doesn't mean to snap, but that's the way it comes out. Maybe the bath wasn't as relaxing as she thought. And she's _not_ thinking about it, not to the extent that she should be if she's actually asking Beca to consider it. Hell, she met this woman fewer than three hours ago, and she's basically requesting that they move in together. It's completely ludicrous; she really can't blame Beca for being incredulous.

Except, now that she has planted the seed in her own brain as well as Beca's, she can't help contemplating the idea. Living with guaranteed care, friendship, and affection as opposed to staying in a hotel, or living with someone she knows even less, or (God forbid) moving back in with _him_. And even with all of the logistics of it aside, she can't help but admit that her mind is currently engaged in a rising fight with itself over the draw she feels to Beca – because there _is_ a pull there, whatever the circumstances may be. Maybe it's the clear, powerful energy that the shorter woman radiates, the fact that she was the one to pull off her gag and blindfold, or that she's started to show Chloe after only a few hours how a _real_ domme would treat a slave, but no matter _what_ the reason is, Chloe is losing track of her logical reasons not to request what she's requesting.

Maybe the rest of her brain thinks she's an idiot, and she probably _is_ one, but both the submissive side of her and the long-neglected normal side agree that having Beca for her domme is swiftly becoming a priority.

She's arguing with Beca before she realizes what she's doing.

"Is there something so wrong with me staying here? Stacie's been wonderful, and I like you, Beca; you've been so good to me, and maybe it's crazy because I only met you a few hours ago but I feel a connection with you that's telling me I should be here. I can't really explain it; I just know I _need_ it." Beca watches her with an unidentifiable expression as she speaks definitively, but by the time she's finished, her face has hardened somewhat. It's not a frightening look, so to speak, but it's solemn enough that it gives Chloe the impression that she won't be getting what she wants – not immediately, at least. She knows that she was a bit forward in her persuasion, and in retrospect she probably shouldn't have said a good portion of what she did, but it's out there now and she can't retract it. She's not sure that she would if she had the ability to, either.

Beca doesn't know what to say. It's not that she's surprised, really – Chloe is a submissive, after all, and deep into the mindset that goes with it. Add to that the fact that she was treated in a way that probably countered her needs as a sub, and Beca can understands why she needs what she says she does. Chloe's old master, in whatever dingy corner of the world he now lurks, clearly never addressed the emotional and psychological aspects of his relationship with the redhead. Their relationship had been hindered by a lack of trust, which Chloe had probably wanted to give but had been unable to, and Beca knows enough of sub mindsets to know that the inability to trust someone that she would instinctively put complete and utter faith in had to have been confusing and essentially damaging to her role as a sub. Also missing had been respect; that much was evident, and as far as Beca is concerned, a relationship without trust or respect isn't a relationship at all, and _especially_ not when it's a master-slave relationship.

Of course Beca's involvement is comforting – Beca doesn't exactly go around shouting it from the rooftops, but privately, she considers herself to be an excellent domme. She's made it a priority, and she's always made sure to meet the standards that she sets for herself. It's only natural for Chloe, who has been so far deprived of a healthy relationship with a master, to be captivated by someone who is clearly the opposite of what she's used to. The allure in a powerful and firm, yet steady, trustworthy, _respectful_ domme is something that Beca can appreciate, even if she can't understand it.

That being said, while _she_ knows that she's a good domme, and while _she_ knows that there _is_ something between them, and while _she_ knows that she would be more than willing to keep Chloe in her life, _Chloe_ doesn't know that yet. She's only known her for several short hours, and while the same may be said for Beca, the brunette is intimately familiar with the workings of submissive mindsets; Chloe has never experienced a true master, and that hinders her ability to see every corner of the situation.

Beca is happy to allow what is being requested of her, but she's not going to do it until she's sure that _Chloe_ is certain of what she's asking for. She tells the redhead as much, feeling a slight trace of guilt wash over her at the sight of disappointed blue eyes, but she knows that it's for the best. She wouldn't be a very good domme if she didn't ensure that her submissive is entirely aware of their predicament. It's one of the first rules of being a mistress; she knows how far _she's_ willing to push things, but she needs to know a sub's limits before engaging in any sort of interaction with them.

She explains this to Chloe, though in fewer words, and doesn't mention her own opinion on the matter. She only suggests that the redhead sleeps on the idea, and that once she is fully recovered and has had a chance to acclimate to her new life, that they can revisit the subject in a proper conversation.

Chloe continues to look sad, but she's courteous, and she expresses her gratitude once again as Beca suggests that they move into the living room to talk and get to know each other a little better before retiring for the night, seeing as it is still somewhat early.

Beca has resolved not to display any sort of behavior that could sway Chloe's opinion either way, but she finds that she can't help placing her hand protectively on the small of Chloe's back as she guides her into the living room, or the firmness in her posture as she tucks a blanket around the girl once she's settled on the couch. She can't _help_ showing her domme side around Chloe, and part of her wonders if perhaps she should be a little worried, but the other half of her craves it, somehow, and Beca's never been good at denying herself what she needs.

"So, Chloe," Stacie starts off once they've settled in. She's taken the large armchair in the corner of the room and has curled her legs up under her body like a cat, leaving Beca and Chloe to share the couch. "Where are you from, originally?" Chloe shifts under the blanket, settling in more comfortably to take the weight off her aching knees.

"I was born and raised in Tampa, Florida," she answers, and gets a wistful look in her eyes that Beca knows is associated with childhood. "I grew up with four older brothers in the house. Then I went to college for seven years in Atlanta, and after I graduated I moved out here to work in a law office, but things got difficult and I started training as a speech therapist to make some money while I figured my shit out." Stacie looks suitably impressed.

"That can be a pretty intense job," she comments, and Chloe nods seriously. "What was your major?"

"Child development."

"So why did you go into law?"

"It paid the bills, and I thought I'd try to work my way up the ladder, you know? I had the idea that I could be a big fancy lawyer – family law or something – but I didn't have the money to get a degree in law school, so I tried to make it just by recommendation. I almost made it, too, but then I ran into – um – the lifestyle, I guess, and things changed." The two dommes notice the way she lowers her head at the admission, a faint blush creeping up her pale cheeks. Beca shares a significant look with Stacie and decides to let the other woman ask.

"Chloe, when exactly did you get involved in the lifestyle?" Chloe blushes deeper.

"Um . . . two years ago, I guess? Two and a half, maybe?" Stacie's expression remains serious.

"Uh-huh. And you say that it interfered with your job?" Chloe's voice, when she answers, is low and filled with shame, and it makes Beca want to reach out and pull her into her arms.

"Yes, ma'am."

"It's Stacie, Chloe."

"Stacie."

"Then how long has it been since you've been able to work?" Chloe's response is hardly audible; Beca has to lean forward to hear, though the girl is only about two feet away.

"Two years." Beca feels a rush of fury surge through her, and judging by the look on Stacie's face, she's not the only one.

"You haven't been able to be a functioning adult for _two years?_ " Stacie demands indignantly. At Chloe quiet mumble of affirmation, her expression turns almost angry. "Let me get this straight; you paid for _seven years_ _of college_ before working your way up the corporate ladder almost to a legitimate position of authority, and then you just _threw that away?_ " She sounds horrified, and if she's being perfectly honest, Chloe can't really blame her. It _does_ sound absurd when it's put that way; she has her reasons, of course, but Stacie's astonishment has a way of suddenly making her reconsider how much they're worth.

"It's – it's not like that," she says hurriedly, raising her head to look from one domme to the other with pleading eyes. "At first, when I got introduced to the lifestyle, it was just a kind of relaxation thing; something I did on the side. But then after a while, when it got intense, it started getting in the way of everything else that I was trying to do. Besides, once Mark and I had been going for a couple months, he asked me to stop working, and I didn't _like_ it, but I kind of _had_ to, or lose him, and I was so into the situation that I didn't realize how easy it could have been for me to step out and find another solution."

"Damn right you could have."

"Stacie!"

"What, Beca? Don't tell me you're not just as bothered by this as I am." Stacie turns her fiery eyes to the shorter brunette, and Beca doesn't shrink beneath her gaze, but rather glares back with equal intensity.

"Of _course_ I am Stacie, but there's no need to push her around because of it; she admits she knows better now!"

" _Does_ she? Then why is she sitting here right now, if she knew better than to let herself remain in a situation like that? If she knew better, then why did you find her tied up and helpless in an alleyway?"

Beca slams her fist down on the coffee table.

"That's _enough_ , Stacie!" Stacie draws a huge breath, about to retaliate, but shuts her mouth abruptly when a small voice breaks in.

"No. Stacie's right; I don't really know better. I'm realizing now that what I did wasn't the smartest thing to do, but that doesn't mean that I would be able to stop myself from doing it again. I'm kind of oblivious anyways, and I'm not really the greatest with self-control." It's Beca's turn to snap as she turns her gaze to the ginger.

"I guess maybe we'd better _teach_ you some, then," she bites, before clamping her lips shut, wide-eyed, as she realizes the implications of what she's said. Far from appearing contrite, Chloe's expression is ecstatic.

"You really mean that?" Beca hastily reorders her thoughts into an acceptable answer.

"Not now," she replies coolly, careful to keep her composure. She's not displaying excellent domme behavior at the moment. "If we agree that you're going to stay, then we'll bring that up again later." It takes a good deal of effort to keep her face stoic and not reveal a hint of the thrill that shoots through her at the possibilities the idea provokes. It doesn't help that Chloe isn't looking to be at all deterred.

Her mind dangerously muddled, Beca shakes her head slightly and pushes herself abruptly up off the couch.

"I think it's time to go to bed; we should end this before this conversation goes to places where we can't contain it tonight." To her surprise, the others agree, and both she and Chloe wave off Stacie's offer to help settle them in for the night. The tall brunette disappears after bidding them goodnight, presumably in the direction of her bedroom, leaving Beca to help Chloe up off the couch.

By this point, the redhead's weariness has grown more pronounced, and the shaking in her legs is apparent when she tries to stand. Her body fairly vibrates with it, spreading the unsteadiness up her thin frame and into her arms and hands and diaphragm. She hates to admit it, but despite her resolution to not push anything until Chloe has had time to consider it, the sight of the woman's weak, trembling body does something to Beca. She has no intention of encouraging Chloe to depend upon her in any way other than an impersonal, stranger-to-stranger manner, but as she watches the girl quiver, it occurs to Beca that maybe Chloe's ability to see clearly isn't the problem here.

It's instinctive for her, after more than seven years, to react the way she does – or at least, that's how Beca justifies it to herself when she moves quickly to Chloe's side. A warm, supporting arm quickly snakes around the redhead's waist, and Beca wastes no time in pulling her close. She nestles Chloe into the support of her body and tries dutifully to ignore the way that her insides tangle pleasantly at the sensation of their bodies pressed so tightly together. Chloe's curves are wrapped around her own in a way that should be _illegal_ for the way it causes the brunette's belly to tighten. She tries her best to brush it off. She has a job to do.

This time, Beca leaves her with no room for argument; curling her hands firmly around Chloe's thighs, she hefts the girl up into her arms. It only proves to make things worse as Chloe's legs wrap tightly around her waist, clinging on like a koala as they move from the room into the hallway, and from there to one of the spare bedrooms with an adjoining bath.

She sets Chloe down on the bed and departs briefly, promising to acquire a pair of pajamas, which leaves Chloe free to let her thoughts run wild in the brief minute that the brunette is gone. She feels so comfortable with Beca that it's actually a little insane, seeing as they're practically still strangers. Chloe doesn't think that the brevity of their time together is important; not when she can clearly sense the protectiveness and possessiveness oozing off the younger woman. Neither will she pretend that the power Beca exudes isn't more than a little bit of a turn on. When she gets down to the facts, Chloe knows that she feels _safe_ with Beca in a way that she's never quite experienced with anyone else. The feisty brunette's attentions are steady and focused; she is kind and gentle, protective, but also straightforward; Chloe appreciates the fact that she's been put in her place several times already tonight, and unlike with Mark, she knows that Beca is right.

Not only that, but she clearly puts great effort into taking care of Chloe. She's careful and concerned and attentive, and it makes Chloe feel like she's important; like she _matters_. It's an odd feeling for someone who spent so long being treated like a slave – even though that's what she _was_ – without any hint of love or respect behind the act. Beca _respects_ her; she clearly values the trust Chloe puts in her and the privilege of having her under her care. It's an entirely new concept to Chloe, but she won't pretend that she doesn't appreciate it. She _enjoys_ it, in fact; she likes being valued, and looking back on her previous experiences, even back to college, and she can't think of another time when she felt so safe and content. The power Beca holds over her is, she realizes, something of a necessity for her; though her freedom is enjoyable, she depends to a large degree on the structure that being cared for and controlled by someone offers her. It's especially effective when that submission is balanced with the recognition on both of their parts that Chloe is still her own person.

Not to mention the fact that the idea of being helpless under Beca's control is _totally_ hot.

When the younger woman returns, it's with a pair of warm flannel pajamas that have clearly been swiped from Stacie's room. Chloe doesn't know if it's because she's been naked for the better part of their time together, or if it's simply due to the kind of connection that she can feel building between them, but neither of them are the least embarrassed by the fact that Beca has to strip her down in order to help her change. In fact, she's sure that the domme's hands linger unconsciously as she tugs the pants up her legs. Chloe may be oblivious a lot of the time, but she knows attraction when she sees it, and she _knows_ that she isn't imagining the firm sweep of Beca's hands across her hips or the lingering brush of fingertips up the sides of her ribcage. The touch is gentle but steady, easy yet firm, and Chloe can't help imagining what those hands would feel like somewhere _else_ , and it sends a dart of warmth shooting through her.

Her body is already stiff and hurting from being tied in a cramped position all day long, but at Beca's touch, there's a sudden, new ache blooming somewhere that has nothing to do with exhaustion.

Beca knows, and while she manages to not give it away, it's a close call. Her own desire has been ramped up a couple notches to match, and not just from seeing Chloe naked once again. Actually, it's anything _but_ that; if anything, the sight of the thin, aching body makes her chest well up with anger at the neglectful treatment afforded to this sweet, trusting young woman. No; it's the sight of the clear trust and familiarity on Chloe's face as she dresses her and gets her settled, tucking her warmly beneath the covers and stroking a pacifying hand down thick auburn curls.

Chloe's gorgeous, and she's trusting, and it all makes Beca's heart clench as she leans down to press a light kiss to the top of her head before murmuring a goodnight and walking quickly from the room so that Chloe doesn't have the chance to give her a funny look.

Too worked up to be tired, the redhead tosses and turns for a long time, trying to find a position that doesn't make her legs hurt or her back cramp. Her mind is in a whirl, jumping from thoughts of Beca to Mark to the lingering, dull ache in her wrists. She's still not entirely sure how she went from being gagged and blindfolded naked in a dark alley, waiting for a master who would have brought her home only to leave her in a similar position all night, to being warm, fed, and clothed with a bed to herself, in the presence of two dommes who seem to genuinely care for her wellbeing. All she knows is that she's grateful, and for the first time in a long time, content.

Well, not _quite_ content. The bed is cold despite the warm comforter and cozy pajamas; maybe her body is too weak or exhausted to radiate much warmth. Either way, it's not long before she's being overcome with the shivers. She curls into as much of a ball as her body can manage and wraps herself around a pillow for warmth, but none of it seems to do any good.

Plus, she's not afraid of the dark, but there's something about spending two years frequently bound and often blindfolded that can make being alone in a strange, dark room not particularly enjoyable.

After about an hour of fighting a restless, trembling battle to fall asleep, when she still isn't even beginning to feel a hint of drowsiness, she gives up and drags herself out of bed.

She's not quite sure how she manages it in the dark, especially with her legs so weak and shaky, but she locates Beca's room. Her body hurts from struggling down the cold hallways, and she's shivering violently now to stay warm. By the time she tentatively pushes open the door, which is standing ajar, she's aching so badly that she only hesitates for a moment before making her decision.

Beca is sprawled out beneath the covers, clearly sound asleep. Chloe creeps over to the side of the bed and contemplates. She knows that she should wake the brunette, if only to ask for an extra blanket (or three), but Beca looks so peaceful asleep, the frown gone from her pretty features. Chloe stands still for a moment at the bedside, debating whether to simply go back to bed and freeze or not, but her legs are close to giving out, and she's really, _really_ cold, and she's never been great at curbing her impulses, so when the urge kicks in, she doesn't think twice before lifting the covers and crawling beneath them to join the sleeping brunette.

Beca simply radiates heat, and Chloe knows instantly that she's made the right decision as she curls into Beca's side. The brunette doesn't wake, for which she is grateful, but she does shift slightly in her sleep, making her position more accommodating, and Chloe gratefully snuggles in deeper, burying herself in the warmth and softness of the domme's body. She nuzzles instinctively into Beca's neck, presses her face into the warm skin, and breathes in the strange-but-familiar smell of shampoo and clean laundry and something else that is purely _Beca_ , and finds herself becoming drowsy almost instantly.

Her body quickly grows heavy with sleep, and Chloe feels the muscles in her legs relax, drawing away the majority of the pain. After a moment, all that remains is a subtle ache, and she lets out a quiet sigh of contentment as she burrows deeper into the warmth.

She's just beginning to drift off when Beca shifts again beneath her. The movement draws her momentarily out of sleep, but when Chloe feels a sleepy hand come up to wrap around her hip and feels Beca rub small circles into the skin in her sleep, she relaxes again and presses even closer than before.

Her last thought before sleep overcomes her is that she has no need to be worried; Beca had been wary of her request, but while the brunette may be reluctant on the surface, the arm around her waist that draws her closer in sleep is telling Chloe something entirely different.


	2. Twenty-Four Hours

**A/N: Hello, my lovelies! Look what I've got for you!**

 **I know this is a few days later than I promised it would be, but honestly, I can't feel too bad for it; I've moved three times this summer - two have been continent hops, and the third was a cross-country move.**

 **That, and I watched part of Fifty Shades (because), and I was so _disgusted_ with Christian Grey that to be perfectly honest I wanted nothing to do with this subject for a couple of days.**

 **But then, after a while, Bechloe won out. Shocker.**

 **Popularity in this is actually going *up*, not down. I'm really surprised, guys! Thank you so much! I was honestly blown away by the response to the first chapter - I didn't think I would be getting *anything* like the reaction I got. And I love seeing that you guys are everywhere in the world; this fandom has really spread itself out haha.  
**

 **Thank you all so, so much for the lovely reviews. I will respond individually to each member review, but for the guests who can't/don't sign in, I'll respond at the end of each chapter. Several of you (guests and members) have expressed that it's refreshing to read a BDSM story that deals with the complex nuances of such a relationship rather than just the sex. I'm glad you think so. I'm trying very hard to convey the complexity of D/s relationships while still keeping a plotline going. I'm also a switch, so while the somewhat random changes in POV may be confusing, that's me realizing that there's something that should be expressed for one of them that needs to happen right then.**

 **Let me know your thoughts, guys; if something's not working for you, if there are any typos (it's late at night here), if you'd like to see more/less of something, or if you just have general comments, I'd love to hear them all. Thank you so much for reading.**

 **Loves!**

 **Teddie**

* * *

Something soft trails lightly down her face and traces the smooth line of her jaw. Not opening her eyes, Chloe sleepily bats it away with an unintelligible grunt. The sensation disappears for the briefest of moments before returning on the other side of her face.

"Rise and shine, honeypie." Sapphire eyes flash open. Stacie barely has time to stumble out of the way before Chloe has flopped out of the bed in a tangle of sheets and dropped obediently to her knees, head bowed to expose the pale, slender line of her neck. Eyes fastened on the floor, she waits. "Chloe?" The sound of the female voice comes as a surprise, and she raises her eyes as recognition flashes through her.

"Oh! Stacie – I – I forgot where I was – I – "

"No need to worry, sweetie," Stacie croons, crouching down on endless legs to tilt Chloe's chin upwards. "I understand. Here – let's get you up." Chloe accepts the hand offered to her and hoists herself to her feet, only to stagger backwards against the bedframe in shock as a wave of achiness seizes her.

 _"_ _Fuck."_ Stacie's chuckle is concerned, and the clash of sentiments is indecipherable in Chloe's sleep-hazed brain.

"You all right there, Ginger?" Chloe tries to twist her features into an expression that doesn't display total agony.

"Sure."

"Honesty, hun." Chloe wrinkles her nose.

"I . . . kind of. I'm a little stiff, but it should pass. I've got a pretty high pain tolerance."

"Now that's a pretty load of bullshit," a low voice drawls from across the room. Both Chloe and Stacie start; Beca must have sauntered in when they were busy talking, and is now leaning against the doorframe. Her stance is casual, but her arms are folded across her chest, and her stormy eyes are narrowed in such a way that Chloe can't decipher whether she's angry or amused.

"Hey Shortstack. Have a nice shower?" Beca permits her eyes to roll in response to Stacie's jesting tone.

"A lovely one; thanks to your habit of taking forty-minute showers, I was left with no hot water." Stacie only shrugs innocently.

"Remember that I'm twice your size, Beca-boo; I'm sorry that these gorgeous legs take longer to wash than yours. You see, some of us have actually _grown_ since third grade."

"Eat a dick, Stacie," Beca tosses back.

"With pleasure," is Stacie's prompt reply. Beca glares harshly at her for a moment before allowing her features to break out into a grin.

"You know you love me, Legs."

"That I do, Becs, that I do. Shall I leave you to it?"

"Yeah, I've got this; thanks for everything. I'll see you tonight?" Beca queries.

"Maybe; I'll have to see what Aubrey's plans are for the night. If she wants to hang, I'll stay over, but otherwise I'll be back before one-ish." Beca winks.

"Oh? Who's going to hang this time? I know you said you were having a sleep over last time, but judging by those bruises you were sporting, I think it was maybe more of a sleep _under_ , if you know what I mean," she retorts sassily, with an impish grin. Stacie flushes beet red and whacks Beca on the arm.

"Shut up!"

"Oh, so it's true! I knew it! Legs is a switch! Who would've guessed?" She's wearing a smirk that makes something in Chloe tangle up and pull itself tight. She suppresses a shudder, grateful that the two other women are too occupied to notice her response.

Stacie seems uncertain whether to laugh or hit Beca, and after a moment of confliction, ends up tickling the smaller woman briefly as she exits the room.

"You're a bitch!" echoes down the hall.

"Love you!" Beca calls back, and chuckles to herself lowly, shaking her head. Her silky hair is down this morning, spilling in precise little curls over the shoulders of her blouse. Chloe eyes her briefly and decides quickly that she likes the look. "Morning, Chloe. You're staring." Ashamed at being caught, Chloe ducks her head.

"Sorry," she mumbles. Nervously, she watches her hands open and close around fistfuls of the comforter; it feels as though with the interruption of sleep she has become uncertain again of how to act in Beca's presence. The brunette has been wonderful to her, truly, but she can't help feeling a little hesitant. Beca is domme, after all, and with the immediate trauma of the previous night lessened, she doesn't know if she will be required to be more obedient, more respectful, or if Beca will continue not to mind her behavior.

She's glad that she didn't see her immediate reaction upon waking; something about their current relationship makes her unwilling for Beca to see her kneeling in submission – not because it makes her vulnerable, but because it wasn't _Beca_ who required her to kneel.

It's an interesting thought, and she doesn't quite know what to make of it.

"It's quite all right, Chloe," Beca reassures. "In fact, I find it rather flattering. But," she adds, her face growing slightly stern, "You'd better be careful of where your eyes wander; some people don't take kindly to being stared at." It isn't an admonishment; only a caution, and Chloe is grateful. She doesn't enjoy being punished for a first offense – besides using common sense, she often has no way to know better. Mark never understood that; he took all of her mistakes as personal insults, no matter how trivial they may have been. He never explained to her _why_ something she did was inappropriate, leaving her confused and liable to do it again. He never been one for calm chastisement, either; he would only grow angry with her, and punish her quickly, as though it was a job he had little time for.

Chloe, though in the back of her mind, had always felt that something about that was a little off. At first, it hadn't been something that she could place; it had been more of a general feeling that something was intrinsically _wrong_. The majority of her brain, occupied with being a sub, hadn't felt uncomfortable with it, but she had still been plagued with a nagging suspicion that things weren't all quite right. It had taken her longer than a year to pick apart her own reactions and decipher exactly what the issue was.

Mark's punishments had been a _duty_ to him, and that was where things had gone wrong. Before entering the lifestyle, Chloe had done a little research, and it had been after a particularly uncomfortable punishment that some of the information had come flooding back. Punishments were supposed to be issued for the purposes of teaching and mutual enjoyment. It had been that way in the beginning – for a time, anyway. Chloe had _enjoyed_ being punished, and along with that, she had needed it, in a way. For the roughly ten days for which it had lasted, she had recognized that it instilled in her responsibility, which she had always lacked. Misbehavior brought about consequences; that logic was simple, black-and-white, and easy for her to understand, and it had taught her quickly and well.

Then it had gotten more complicated as Mark had begun acting as though it were a job he wanted to get over with, and she had lost the feeling it had given her. Her learning had become a chore for him, and because she lived to serve him, it was wrong to burden him with needs that he so obviously wanted little to do with. She had felt _guilty_ for troubling him with it, and at the same time a little desperate for having lost something that had proved valuable.

Now, freed from that cumbersome guilt and confusion, she looks up into Beca's steady eyes and wonders, not for the first time, if she sees the promise of being able to regain what she has lost. She knows that Beca could help her acquire that knowledge again – or perhaps she doesn't _know_ , precisely, but she has been consumed since late last night with a significant feeling that it will prove to be true. If only Beca is willing to help her, Chloe senses that she can relearn. She is almost entirely certain that she could flourish beneath Beca's hand, and she's eager to experience that growth, if Beca will only allow it.

"Good morning," she replies politely after a moment. "Thank you; I will be careful of what I stare at." A smile spreads across Beca's face; she steps out of the doorway and crosses the room to stand before the bedside. Chloe feels warm hands cup her cheeks and jaw and tilt her face upwards, thumbs drawing little patterns into her temples. She brings her eyes up obediently to meet Beca's, and decides that the domme's eyes are the color of thunderheads, grey-blue and full of promise. Her breath catches. She can't help it; Beca's gaze is so deep and captivating, and her body is right up close to Chloe's, warm and softly scented and so _present_.

It proves to be a little overwhelming so soon after waking up, and Chloe is forced to shut her eyes in a long blink in order to refrain from falling into an incoherent mess.

"Chloe? Did you hear me? I asked how you slept last night." Chloe tunes back in hurriedly, uncomfortable to find that she missed the brunette speaking. She blinks rapidly to clear her thoughts before replying.

"Oh, I – yes, I did," she says quietly. Beca lets out a low laugh.

"I figured you had, seeing as you were passed out on top of me when I woke up," she chuckles, and Chloe feels instant repentance fill her body. She blushes red and attempts to stammer out an apology.

"I – I didn't – it wasn't – I didn't mean to – "

"Chloe, relax," Beca interrupts her smoothly, and Chloe obeys, taking a long, deep breath to settle her brain. "I'm not mad at you for coming into my room; I understand that you needed contact. However, I am not pleased that you did it without asking for help. You could have put your safety in jeopardy, trying to find your way in a strange, darkened house when you were ill. You might have gotten lost, or tumbled into something in the dark. You knew how unwell you were; it was irresponsible of you not to call for help." She expects to see remorse on Chloe's face, but far to the contrary, the redhead appears to be ecstatic. "Chloe?" she asks, when the girl's lips spread in a wide grin. "Chloe, what is it?"

"You explained it!" Chloe squeals, and the sound makes Beca jump. She frowns.

"I explained it? What do you mean, Chloe?" The redhead's grin only grows wider, and she fairly bounces on the edge of the mattress.

"You explained to me what I did wrong!" she repeats excitedly. Beca's frown only deepens.

"Of course I did, Chloe; that's how people learn. And it's not that I think you couldn't normally manage finding a room by yourself; you're perfectly capable of doing that on your own under normal circumstances. It's only that you were having trouble walking, and the house is unfamiliar, so you were at a disadvantage trying to find me in the dark." Chloe shakes her head.

"I know that," she says pointedly. "But you told me _why_ it was wrong, and it made sense!" Before Beca can reply, long, skinny arms have been flung around her, and she finds herself being pulled into a hug. At first, startled, she doesn't return the gesture, but when Chloe doesn't let go, her arms instinctively go up to wrap around the thinner body and pull the other girl close. It's comfortable, though surprising, and she finds that she quite likes the feeling of Chloe clinging to her. Trust is being placed in her, and it pleases Beca greatly; it's a great deal of the reason why she got involved in the lifestyle in the first place. Knowing that she is providing an anchor for somebody's faith warms her from head to toe and fills her with a sense of responsibility and protectiveness. It emphasizes her own need to be responsible; she learned early on that it's one thing to mess up when all you have at stake are your own problems, but when the price of a mistake includes someone else, it is critical to pay strict attention and to act purposefully and with certainty and care.

It's a good exercise for someone like her, who is by nature impulsive and a little bit rebellious. It steadies her.

Not to mention that Chloe's face is dangerously close to her cleavage right now, and that does a little something to sway her thoughts in an intriguing and increasingly inappropriate direction.

She allows Chloe to hold on for a full minute before breaking away. Contact is evidently something Chloe needs, and from what she knows of the redhead's predicament prior to the previous night, she can understand why, at least on a certain level. She can't empathize; she's a domme, and though she is fond of contact with submissives, she pulls her enjoyment from its conceptual appeal – she likes to provide comfort and reassurance. She doesn't crave it in the same manner or for the same reasons as a submissive would; for Beca, loving contact with a submissive means a mistress desiring something for her sub's sake. When she does crave it, it is _Beca_ desiring to share something intimate with a romantic interest.

She's heard that the lines can grow a little blurry, but she's yet to experience it; she's never had someone in her life who is both a submissive and a lover. At the present time, she is valiantly working to push away the subtle hints her brain is tossing at her regarding such a conundrum and Chloe. That may be a perfectly reasonable scenario later on, but right now she has more demanding issues at hand.

In all honesty, though, she wants it; she wants it more than she can express. She's still going to nobly insist that Chloe be certain of her desires before jumping into anything, but _she_ , _Beca_ , doesn't need to do nearly as much considering as she probably should. In fact, her stance on the matter is surprisingly simply put; she wants what's best for Chloe, above all, which is why she's hesitating, but she also wants _Chloe_.

It's not just the physical attraction, though that's absolutely there. How can it not be? Chloe is gorgeous; beautiful in a fresh, ageless, elegant sort of way – though unconsciously so, she wears the air of a sophisticated, classic beauty. Beca can feel the heat build all throughout her body every time the redhead's close, and it's not quite like anything she's experienced before. She watches Chloe's lips when she speaks, the anxious flutter of her slender hands when she's worried, and she can't help but imagine what it would feel like to have her _closer_.

Even still, the attraction isn't merely physical; Beca can feel a pull, stronger than she'd care to admit, that draws her to Chloe. She's seen enough in odd moments to understand that beneath her temporary anxiety the redhead is bright and warm, and, while Beca wouldn't necessarily call her carefree, she does present a certain attitude of acceptance that if she considered it long enough would make Beca a little envious. She wants to get to know Chloe on a deeper, more intimate level, and even that is leaving her domme side out of it. Add in the intense need that Beca feels to protect, to own and control and nurture, and it's safe to say that the brunette is more than a little overwhelmed with desire.

But for the moment, at least, she needs to stop focusing on it; Chloe is needy right now, and that's where all of Beca's priorities lie.

The redhead has ceased clinging to her with quite the same level of desperation, but all the same is still holding on tightly enough that Beca's ribs feel constricted. She runs a gentle hand down Chloe's hair and taps her shoulder, signaling to her that the time has come to let go. Chloe immediately pulls back. Her expression is still warm, open, and it initiates a short series of stutters in Beca's heartbeat.

"Thank you," she breathes, and Beca has to fight to steady her pulse before answering. She should not allow herself to be this affected by Chloe right now; it will be acceptable later if the redhead stays, but she is already balancing her duty to care for Chloe with her inner domme's instinct to take over. It's been a constant ebb and flow of persuasive energy in both directions, and at the moment, she honestly has no idea which side is going to win out. She figures she ought to aim for a healthy balance and then proceed from there. She's confident that she can achieve it – she's nothing if not good at managing the flip sides of her personality – but she hopes that it will eventually morph into something that she isn't _required_ to manage.

"You're welcome," she answers genuinely, taking a step back. She doesn't want to move away, but right now, if she wants to get the day started, she needs to put a little distance between them. "I'm sorry to wake you, but if I had let you remain in bed any longer, you would have a difficult time falling asleep tonight." Chloe understands; sleeping in late has never been her speed. She has always been able to fall asleep late and rise early; that the events of the previous night exhausted her to such an extent says something significant about her overall condition.

She finds it troublesome.

"That's all right; thank you," she grants softly. "I hope that I didn't disrupt any plans for the morning by sleeping so late." Beca shakes her head with a glint of certainty in her eyes that Chloe instantly appreciates. Honesty and steadiness are qualities that she hadn't known she had been deprived of in interactions before last night. Now, having been granted them for the first time in several years, she values their availability.

"Not at all; I don't typically have plans this early. Besides, you take precedence, so my plans right now are oriented around you – I was thinking we could cook up something for breakfast, and then spend part of the morning getting you settled in. What do you think?" Chloe stares. It's been so long since somebody has asked her opinion that at first she is at a loss as to how to respond. Besides, Beca just essentially admitted that she's her number one priority, and Chloe lets that sit warmly for a moment in the pit of her stomach before gathering her thoughts and answering.

Searching for an honest opinion takes a moment longer than she's accustomed to; normally, she would offer a vague murmur of compliance regardless of her thoughts, but Beca's presence has prompted her to be honest from the beginning. It hasn't even occurred to her to lie to the brunette. She wonders how much that has to do with their connection rather than mere natural inclination.

"I'd like that," she decides, and feels immediate relief at having spoken her true thoughts. "Should I get dressed first?" It's not the most critical question on her list, but it's the first one that comes to mind, and the easiest to answer.

Evidently, Beca feels much the same.

"That would probably be wise," she affirms smoothly. "Stacie brought you some more clothes to choose from – I trust that you can handle that on your own?" Chloe's gaze flits over to the chair by the door, where she sees that Stacie has left a large pile of clothing – some previously worn, some clearly new – for her to wear. Quickly, she assesses her ability to dress herself; though her body is quite stiff and sore, she normally wouldn't ask for assistance. But Beca has made it clear that she is willing to help her with anything.

At the same time, Chloe knows that she can take care of herself; she's not helpless. It's just that it feels nice, after two years of only a base level of attention, to be taken care of so thoroughly. She's forgotten on some level how to deal with everyday issues, and with that comes the fact that she can only perform those simple tasks to a mediocre degree.

She can't decide whether she needs Beca to help her or not.

"Chloe, look at me." Thankfully, the brunette seems to have sensed her uncertainty. Chloe obediently looks up. "If you would like help getting dressed because you're in too much pain to do it yourself, I will help you. However, if you want me to help you because it's easier that way, or because you don't want to do it yourself, then I'm not going to help. I'm more than willing to take care of you, but I need you to be able to function on your own. Once you have achieved that, we can discuss this again. If I assist you with such a thing later on, it will be because I as your mistress will be concerned with your actions." Beca doesn't exactly sound regretful as she lets the words slide from her mouth, but there's a clear tone of reluctance that goes along with her determination not to rush things. Nevertheless, her words cause Chloe's expression to instantly light up in glee.

"You mean you'll do it?" she asks breathlessly, not seeming to realize that she has stood up in her anticipation. "You'll be my mistress?"

Beca isn't exactly uncomfortable, per se, but she seems to be reconsidering speaking so soon. She can sense that her expression is giving away her thoughts, and she doesn't like it. To solve the issue, she allows her domme mask to fall into place, concealing her inner turmoil. It's probably not the wisest way of coping, but it's quick, and it's certainly effective.

"I told you that I will consider it once you have gotten comfortable here, and that hasn't changed," she responds brusquely. "Your move last night did prompt me to go more in-depth with my thoughts concerning it, and I will admit that I'm not adverse to the idea, but my decision still stands. We will discuss this again once you have settled in here." Beca manages to sound stern, calm, and reassuring all at once, and though she isn't ecstatic about the answer, Chloe feels herself physically relax at the combination of sentiments. She figures that a maybe is much better than a no.

Besides, she has plenty of ways to convince Beca while she bides her time; the domme may remain unconvinced, but Chloe is almost entirely certain of her decision. It's a want and a need, and although she hasn't been wonderful at allowing herself the privilege of indulging in such things, she sees no reason to deny herself the luxury when it comes to Beca. Beca understands her situation, and she is knowledgeable in all things regarding it. She won't judge Chloe for her needs, and that, combined with her obvious draw to Chloe, convinces the redhead that this decision won't be hanging in limbo for long.

"I will go get a head start on breakfast while you dress." Beca changes the subject as quickly and smoothly as she can, but to Chloe, the abruptness is still obvious. It's clear that Beca is a little uncomfortable with her own response to the question they've been dancing around and wants to reassert herself by carrying out simple, familiar actions. "Do you remember how to get to the kitchen? If not, I can wait outside until you're done, and we can go together."

The word _together_ is more than a little tempting to Chloe, but she understands Beca's need to separate herself from the situation. It's something that she's always needed to do herself, but in the past few years, it hasn't been so easy. She welcomes it now, knowing that Beca is stepping away not only for her own sake, but for Chloe's as well.

"I can find it again, I'm sure," she assures, actually managing to instill a little confidence in her words. "I'll only be a minute." Beca nods quickly, firmly, and exits almost faster than Chloe can blink. She stares bemusedly at the empty doorway for a moment after the brunette has left, a little caught up in her thoughts. It takes her a moment to bring her mind back to the task at hand and turn to the piles of clothing waiting to be sifted through.

She was right, she discovers; it's fairly easy for her to locate the kitchen again, despite the confused state she was in last night. She enters to find Beca moving busily back and forth between the counter and the refrigerator, clearly somewhat harried. The shorter woman is struggling to slice peppers with a butter knife, and from the looks of it, she isn't having much luck.

Chloe finds a small delight in stepping up calmly beside Beca, choosing a real utensil from the knife block, and taking over the chopping as though she knows precisely what she's doing. She doesn't see Beca's mouth hanging agape behind her.

"How did you know how to do that?" the brunette splutters, looking more than a little miffed. Chloe lets out a quiet chuckle.

"It's not that hard, Beca; nobody has ever or will ever be able to cut _anything_ with a butter knife. Haven't you ever done this before?" she teases. Their casual contact the previous night and this morning has caused her to grow even more comfortable in Beca's presence. Chloe's moods may be volatile – she has always been well aware of it – but while her thoughts may be confused, she always knows what her _actions_ mean.

That being said, she's prepared for a little backlash for her jib, but she isn't expecting fingers to snake themselves into the hair at the base of her neck and grip the roots strongly. It takes her more than a little by surprise, and she nearly drops the knife, but the sensation is not unwelcome. If anything, it's exactly what she's been craving, and Chloe finds her eyes slipping shut and a soft hum of contentment escaping her as her entire body relaxes. She sets the knife down automatically and leans into the forceful touch with a sound in her chest that can only be described as a purr.

Without warning, the hand releases her, and Chloe's eyebrows pinch into a frown at the loss of contact. Her eyes open to find Beca staring up at her with an expression that's a little like shock.

"Chloe?"

"Beca." She doesn't know how else to respond. She's confused, and much more than a little disappointed. Why did Beca let her go? It had felt so good.

"What made you do that?" Beca is frowning too, and if Chloe could see them both in a mirror right now, she would laugh at their identicalness.

But she doesn't laugh. She doesn't understand; it seems that she's not the only one who gets incoherent when she's caught off guard.

"What do you mean?"

"What made you react that way?" Beca insists, stepping a little into her personal space. Chloe can't help but think that she doesn't mind her bubble being invaded when Beca is the one doing the trespassing; besides, she's Chloe Beale – she doesn't exactly have much of a regard for personal space no matter what the circumstances.

"It felt good," she answers honestly. She watches as Beca's eyebrows lift questioningly.

"I gathered that much. What I mean is, what _made_ it feel good?" the brunette probes, and Chloe understands. It's a fairly analytical question, but it makes sense to her that way; it makes her able to answer it to the fullest extent.

"That it was demanding. That you put me under your control. That it was _you_ doing it to me," she answers frankly, and watches as Beca's eyebrows go up even further at her response.

"I see. And what about me makes that so significant?" Beca sounds skeptical, but Chloe doesn't hesitate. In fact, she jumps at the opportunity to reiterate the message that she's been trying to put across since last night. She makes sure that their gazes are locked directly as she replies, her voice steady and certain. She's going to let it all out – better now than later – and she wants Beca to hear every word for what it is.

"I feel a draw to you, Beca. And before you say anything, it's not just because you got me out of a tough situation. I knew that I needed to get out anyways; you just happened to facilitate that. But I feel something for you beyond that; beyond what I can explain. I don't totally understand it yet, but I know that it's pulling me towards you. I used to always follow my heart, Beca, before I got into the mess you found me in; that's why I stayed so long in college, and why I did what I did to try to get a job that I was in no way officially qualified for. I stopped doing that two years ago, but now that I'm away from that, I can do it again. And since the moment you untied me last night, my heart has been telling me that I _need_ you, Beca. In more ways than one. In more ways that I know, actually; all I know is that I need you. I've been in a shitty situation in this lifestyle, but my needs regarding it haven't changed; if anything, they've grown stronger for lack of being addressed. Now I want to experience it for real, and you're everything I could ever ask for in a domme and more. But it's not just that – I want to get to _know_ you, too; not just as a Mistress, though I do want that – God, Beca, I want it," she says desperately. "I want _all_ of that, but I also want to get to know _Beca_ , because you're a wonderful person and, like I said, I'm drawn to you in more ways than one. And I _know_ that you feel something for me too; otherwise you wouldn't be doing as much as you are. What you've done for me far surpasses what would be customary for a domme who only wanted to do her duty. So I wish you would stop dancing around this thing between us and just _let it happen_ already."

Chloe is pretty sure she's never seen anyone look as thunderstruck as Beca does in that moment. It takes a good minute and a half for the domme to stop working her jaw around silent words and actually start to choke out a response. It sounds like she's about to try to say several things at once, and Chloe, anticipating one of them, quickly adds on to her speech before the words can escape.

"And don't give me any more of that 'wanting me to be comfortable' crap; I know you think it's in my best interests to get used to being around you before I make a decision, but damn it Beca, I'm already more certain than I could ever be, and if I end up changing my mind, I'll just _tell_ you about it. Nothing's wrong with starting something and then deciding not to do it anymore, but I already know that I won't be doing that."

"I . . ." At first, Beca appears to be lost for words. Her mouth moves soundlessly, her stormy eyes conflicted. She appears to be considering something, and knowing how vital their exchange is to the future she hopes for, Chloe waits patiently for her to find her words.

When she finally does, it's not what she was expecting, and judging by the look on Beca's face, it's not what she anticipated saying, either.

"I hope you don't. Start something and then change your mind." She definitely doesn't look like she meant to say it; her cheeks flush and her stormy eyes widen and her eyebrows rise up higher on her forehead than Chloe thinks they should be able to go. It only takes an instant before she looks exceedingly uncomfortable, and Chloe feels guilt rush through her like a tidal wave. She probably shouldn't have been so forward with Beca; not after the brunette had told her so many times that the conversation needed to wait.

Contritely, she reaches out to lay her hand over Beca's on the countertop, and fights a smile when the domme instinctively flips her hand over to intertwine their fingers.

"Beca . . . I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said all of that so soon. It's my fault; I was baiting you, and I know that I shouldn't have. I didn't mean to put you in a difficult position. I can wait to discuss this, like you said. Please don't feel like you need to say anything now." The brunette actually blushes, and for a moment, she refuses to meet Chloe's gaze. It's uncharacteristic, especially for someone who is normally so collected and in control, and Chloe knows that she's pushed it too far.

"Chloe, I – "

"Beca, please. It can wait." She smiles reassuringly at Beca, who looks up at her for a brief moment, and then returns to chopping up vegetables as though no interlude has taken place.

Beca watches her for a minute before saying softly, "I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have reacted the way I did. I should know better than that."

"Beca, really, it's all my – "

"No, Chloe. I should have known better. Let's finish making breakfast, okay?" Chloe hums out a response, not wanting to speak for fear of pushing the conversation. She knows that they need to stop now before they turn this into an actual argument. Fighting with Beca isn't what she wants, and it goes against her instincts to challenge her. She can bring it up again later when they're both more prepared to sit down and have an actual discussion without adding to the discomfort they're both feeling right now.

After breakfast, Beca brings up another point that Chloe had been debating whether or not to introduce. Obviously, she knows that she can't keep wearing Stacie's clothes forever, and she had figured that the brunette was aware of that as well. Beca asks her, simply put, if she _has_ any clothes to call her own, and she does. She just doesn't want anything to do with their acquisition.

"They're . . . you know . . . at _his_ place," she reveals uncomfortably in response to Beca's query. "I would go get them, but if he's there, I'd really rather not face him, you know?" Beca nods solemnly, understanding. Personally, she would love to encounter this bastard and lay into him about his treatment of Chloe, but she can understand why the redhead wants nothing to do with the asshole. She didn't exactly give him her two-weeks' notice, and he isn't likely to have taken her disappearance well.

"I could ask Stacie to go, if you tell me where your clothes are in the house," the brunette debates dubiously. "But he could report her for trespassing, and I don't really want to put her in that position." Considering the options, Chloe bites her lip in a way that makes Beca's imagination temporarily run wild.

"I don't either. I guess . . . maybe I'd feel all right going back there, as long as I didn't have to go alone," she says slowly.

"If I went with you, you mean?"

"I suppose."

"Yes or no, Chloe?" She may not be the girl's domme – yet – but Beca can't help letting that side of her out on occasion. It's like living with people of a different culture – eventually, picking up some of their habits is unavoidable.

"Yes. I mean, I'd feel better if you came with me." That's all she needs to hear. Beca stands.

"Very well, then. Is there a specific time we should go – say, when he will or will not be there?" she questions, clearing their breakfast dishes. Inwardly, she notes the way that Chloe automatically moves to take over the task, and she holds back a grin. With the immediate negative effects of it swiftly dispersing, Chloe is being left with a fine residue of healthy, instinctive reactions that seem to be a product of her personality rather than the way she has been treated. Being a submissive seems to be almost as deeply ingrained in who Chloe is as having red hair.

Chloe debates for a moment, not seeming to notice that while she thinks she has been absently working to clean nearly the entire kitchen. Beca lets her, knowing that to point it out would only make her self-conscious.

"I . . . I guess now would be as good a time as any. It's still fairly early for him; he usually isn't back from a client's until around one or two." Beca tries to ignore the way her blood burns with anger at that statement, but her resolve crumbles when she sees a faint, uncomfortable flush creeping up Chloe's cheeks. She's lost count of the number of times she's seen the girl blush, and she usually finds it endearing, but knowing where this particular one stems from makes her instantly angrier.

She moves across the room to stand beside Chloe and remove her hands gently from the sink, where they are scrubbing unnecessarily at the stainless steel.

"Chloe."

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize."

"Sorry." She turns redder. "I mean, I . . ."

"He made you feel inadequate, didn't he? Like you didn't satisfy him enough. Like you weren't doing your duty." She knows that it might not be considered proper to bluntly read into Chloe's emotions this way, but she feels instinctively that the redhead needs to let out a little of her inner angst if she's wants to be able to let go of the worries Beca _knows_ she harbors about their bond. She doesn't want to become engaged in a repeat of her previous emotions, and Beca knows from experience that the best way to prevent that from happening is to express them. Her younger self would never have agreed, but she is wiser now, and knows that, especially with a relationship such as this, being open is more critical than almost anything else.

When Chloe bites her lip again, this time with tears brimming at the corners of her striking eyes, Beca cannot help but reach up to cradle her cheek, brushing the pad of her thumb softly across smooth skin.

"He was wrong to do that to you. Even if he _had_ been feeling something like that, which I doubt, talking to you about it would have been the way to solve it. Not going off with others and leaving you wondering if you had done something wrong. That shows a lack of respect, Chloe, and a lack of commitment." Chloe only nods, tears still clinging to her eyelashes. Seeing her obvious sadness, Beca can't help but add, in a murmur so low that it can barely be heard, yet that still echoes with truth, "I would _never_ make you feel that way."

When Chloe's gaze snaps up to meet her own, Beca meaningfully holds her gaze for just long enough that the redhead knows she has heard correctly before pulling away. The conversation still isn't ready to be had, but she needed to express the sentiment.

It's true – she _wouldn't_ ever make Chloe feel undervalued or unwanted. She's not naïve; she knows the potential consequences of making promises, especially ones that are made more volatile by being subject to emotion, but she's also confident in her ability both as a domme and as herself, as _Beca_ , to honor the sort of statement she just made. She knows how her own mind works, she knows the amount of control she has over her own actions, and above all, no matter what her thoughts or emotions could potentially morph into, she knows that she is capable of holding herself to her own words. Out of the many things that Beca works to ensure that she is, honorable is one of the highest on the list.

She allows Chloe time to respond to her statement, but the redhead doesn't seem able, and after an adequate amount of silence, Beca strides out of the room and returns a moment later with two coats over her arm and a scarf, hat, and gloves clutched in her hand. She pauses before the redhead, waiting to hand over the items until she has received confirmation that this course of action is acceptable.

"Chloe, are you sure that you're all right with going out now? We could wait until tomorrow, or the next day, even, if you'd like; you just got here, after all, and you must still be a little shaken up after last night." Chloe is shaking her head before Beca can even finish.

"No, I'd like to go now," she says firmly, though her hands waver as she reaches for the offered coat.

"Chloe, honesty is important here. If you don't feel comfortable going now, you need to tell me so." Chloe manages to look up at her, though she fiddles with her zipper nervously, and her eyes, though worried, are determined.

"I'm not comfortable," she says honestly, and holds up a hand when Beca starts to respond. "But I need to go now. I'll lose my nerve if I have any more time to think about it, and I don't want him to keep me from doing anything I need to do. He shouldn't have that power over me; not anymore," she says resolutely. Her voice trembles ever so slightly, but Beca's lips break into a smile at her words. She's learning, at least a little, and it feels good to watch the vulnerable girl come into her own after being stuck in such a deeply unhealthy mindset for so long. It's taking far less time that she had imagined it would; she wonders if it has anything to do with what she can see to be the redhead's naturally accepting, adaptive personality.

It's a good thing no matter what it stems from. Beca isn't worried about Chloe being victim to the kind of reactive, temporary ability to adapt that she sees often in startled submissives. That sort of thing is a brief, often adrenaline induced reaction that serves as a mode of self-preservation. However, it's a reaction that is shaky and volatile, usually disappearing the moment the situation no longer calls for it, and she sees no sign of that in Chloe.

She would be lying if she said it didn't make her proud.

Without remarking on it, she permits Chloe to dress, stepping forward to adjust the hat so that it sits snugly over the tops of the redhead's ears. Chloe accepts the hand she extends without question when they reach the door, and it makes Beca grow warm inside to know that she is already so deeply trusted. In all honesty, Chloe is probably the most natural submissive she's ever seen; being long acquainted with the lifestyle, Beca knows that it has nothing to do with her former circumstances and everything to do with who Chloe is as a person.

Her heart flutters at the thought of the utter trust and control that could be placed in her hands. She might be attempting to be noble about it, and she has every intention of keeping that up, but Beca knows that the moment she's sure that Chloe's decision is sound, she will make no protest at being the one to see the beautiful vulnerability she knows it will expose.

It's what she became a domme for; to feed her desire, her _need_ , to see people in such a vulnerable state, to be trusted to give them everything they need, and she can tell already that with Chloe, everything she has previously experienced along those lines will be completely blown away.

She leads Chloe down the drive to her car, allowing her time to look around and examine her surroundings in a way that she was unable to the night before. She's guessing that it feels a little different with clothes on, and her suspicion is proved right when Chloe lets out a small laugh.

"What is it?" she asks, happy to see the girl so lighthearted. So far, the redhead's liveliness has emerged in infrequent bits so that the most Beca has ever seen of it is sporadic glimpses.

"It's nice not to be flashing the neighbors," Chloe giggles lightly, and Beca swears she swoons a little at the sound.

"I'll bet," she replies with a small grin as she puts the car in gear. "Not that they were complaining, I'm sure." She doesn't miss the way that yet another blush creeps up Chloe's neck at her words. She permits her grin to spread, a little devilishly, and when Chloe cottons on she receives a light smack on the arm in response.

"Beca! I was in a _compromising position_ ," she reproaches. Beca's smile grows still wider, but this time it's a result of witnessing the clear lighthearted mood that Chloe is in. She can't help but remark on it as she pulls onto the street.

"You've got a pretty laugh, Red. You should grace the world with it more often," she remarks. Chloe stares.

"Did you just compliment me?" Beca casts a quick glance at her out of the corner of her eye. She pretends to shrug noncommittally as she pauses at an intersection.

"Maybe I did." She sees no harm in their flirtatious banter; if anything, it's a good catharsis for Chloe, who clearly hasn't engaged in this sort of interaction in quite some time. Besides, her companion has already established that she thinks they're building on a connection that goes beyond a mere mistress-slave relationship.

She can't help but agree, though she won't be admitting that until the moment is appropriate.

After the exchange of a few more playful remarks, Beca is forced to turn the conversation to a more serious note. Chloe immediately sobers when she's asked for directions to Mark's apartment. Beca doesn't like seeing the way that her face falls, but she bites her tongue against a reaction. They're both aware already that this trip probably won't turn out to be a pleasant one for Chloe – for either of them, really – but Beca figures that now is a better time than later to deal with it. She would say otherwise, but she knows enough of Chloe in their brief time together to deduce that it would probably be less comfortable for her to return to a place that may drudge up bad memories _after_ being separated from it for a long time. She just hopes that if Chloe's mind is dragged off somewhere unpleasant today she will have the ability to pull her back.

It takes them a shorter amount of time than Beca expected to locate the apartment building; judging by the fact that Chloe had never approached it from their direction before, she had figured it would take a while, but when she remarks on it, Chloe only shrugs, saying something about always having had a good sense of direction.

Beca's glad – her own internal compass has always been out of whack. It's a small thing, but somehow it only enforces her belief that they would make a good team.

The building is a shabby one, one of the most unkept in a block of fairly middle-class old brownstones. It's the only modern building on the block, constructed of cement instead of bricks, but it's a little run-down, its seventies architecture odd and unbecoming among the older, more classically sophisticated buildings.

Chloe doesn't need a key, nor does she appear to need to buzz them in. She merely pushes the front door open into a musty-smelling stairwell whose roof clearly hasn't been rain-proofed in a while. Up until that point, Beca has watched her lead the way with a kind of trepedatious confidence that speaks of being on a highly disliked home turf – a little like the way Beca used to feel at elementary school soccer games; she knew her home field like the back of her hand, but at the same time was subject to a distinct nagging feeling that reminded her of the too many times she had had her face smashed into its fake grass.

It is in the entryway that Chloe pauses, turning to Beca with eyes brimming with anxiety and hesitation, and the brunette doesn't hesitate to take her hand.

"Listen to me," she says seriously, looking steadily at the worried ginger. "I can't promise that this won't be ugly, but if he's here, I will do my utmost to keep him away from you. Remember that he has no claim over you now, and you are in no way obligated to do anything he says. Understand?" Chloe releases a shuddering breath, nodding with her eyes firmly shut. "Chloe, look at me, please," Beca coaxes, lifting a hand to cup the girl's jawline. Blue eyes flash open, full of worry. She draws another breath.

"I – I just – I'm afraid," she admits softly. Beca squeezes her hands in reassurance. "I . . . I don't want to feel like I'm still under his control, but I'm afraid that he'll look at me and I'll just _give in_ to him. I know it's different now, because now I _know_ that I don't want to be affected by him, but it's been less than a day, Beca, and I'm not good with self-control. I _might_." Beca tries not to show the anger she feels building up at the notion of Chloe being reduced to such an uncomfortable state. By someone whose duty it had been to make her comfortable, no less. She covers her building fury by reaching up to brush her fingertips softly through auburn waves, gently thumbing the shell of Chloe's ear. She doesn't miss the way that Chloe's breath catches at the contact, and it does a little to soothe her anger.

Because it isn't frustration that she's feeling right now, despite the fact that that would be a more reasonable response. Beca is _furious_ at the thought of anyone mistreating this beautiful, trusting angel of a human being in front of her, and in all frankness she wants nothing more than to kick the shit out of the bastard that did it, but she's holding back at the moment for Chloe's sake. Chloe doesn't need to see that, and Beca's determined that she won't unless it's absolutely necessary.

So, in actual fact, it's quite likely.

"Chloe," she starts, and she stammers a little over the word in her struggle not to replace it with something more intimate that may be appropriate later but would _definitely_ be pushing boundaries if she said it now. She clears her throat and tries again. "Chloe, I know that this isn't going to be pleasant for you. I wish I could guarantee that you won't want to give in to him, but I can't do that." When Chloe's eyes fall at her words, she scratches gently at her ear to bring her gaze back. Blue eyes flicker back to hers, and she watches them intently as she speaks. "I can't guarantee that, but if it does happen, and even if it doesn't, I want you to remember something for me."

Chloe's breathy little _hmm_ of acquiescence is nearly her undoing, but after blinking slowly to gather her thoughts, she is able to continue.

"Whatever happens up there, I want you to remember that at the end of all of it, you're coming home with me, not with him; what he says to you doesn't matter, because I'll be right there with you, and when it's over, I'm going to take you home." She isn't prepared for the kiss that Chloe surges forward to plant on her cheek when she's done speaking, leaving a sweet burning sensation in its wake. The redhead steps back almost immediately, but her eyes are flooded with emotion, deep and intense. It takes Beca a moment to recover, and by the time she has, Chloe is extending a hand to her, one foot on the stairs and determination set firmly in the lines around her lips and eyes.

* * *

Chloe doesn't have time to contemplate why she did it; she's too focused on devoting every particle of herself to the task ahead without letting her will be swayed. She only knows that the sensation of Beca's skin beneath her lips felt wonderful, and if the brunette's expression when she pulled away is anything to go by, the domme isn't complaining either.

She'll revisit it all later – maybe when they have their long-awaited conversation, which she is determined will happen soon – but for now, she has what might prove to be an extremely draining encounter ahead of her.

She doesn't leave herself time to further consider any of the possibilities ahead; when they reach the third floor, she finds the apartment door as swiftly as she can, and draws a deep, rattling breath to steel herself. She wants to get this over with, whatever the outcome may be. And honestly, she only wants to grab her clothing and a couple of picture frames from beside where she used to sleep. It's not like any of her actual prized possessions are here; she put them into storage before moving in, not knowing how long the relationship was going to last, and was never given the chance to retrieve them afterwards. This won't take long, and besides, Mark might not even be home.

It's clear, however, from the moment they step in, that he is. Beca doesn't know that based on the presence of the loafers that sit by the door, but she reads it from Chloe's face, and gives her a slight nod. He might be sleeping, and honestly, Chloe's praying for it. She has a feeling that Beca would love to encounter him, but she would just as soon grab a couple shirts and leave and never see him again. She has no desire to ever be in his presence; she hasn't since the moment Beca pulled off her blindfold, fewer than twenty-four hours ago though it may have been. Mark isn't a horrible man, but he's a shitty dom, and that translates into him not being as great a man as Chloe knows she deserves. She didn't used to be the questioning type, and self-doubt isn't her thing; she'd known all along in Mark's presence that she deserved something better, but as Beca is well aware, she's not exactly great with giving herself what she needs. She used to be, and she knows that with Beca she can gain that back, but at the moment, it's really the best excuse she has for what she's allowed herself to go through.

Keeping a careful ear out for any movement from the other end of the apartment, she leads Beca through the living room into the spare bedroom. In her two and a half years in this apartment, she'd never actually slept there, Mark preferring her to sleep on the floor by his own bedside or be chained to the lumpy couch in the playroom down the hall. However, when she'd moved in, she hadn't exactly been aware of that; all of her clothes – most of which admittedly hadn't been worn in the entire time she'd lived there – were kept in the dresser in the spare room.

It's there that she leads Beca, and the brunette keeps a steady watch on the door as Chloe riffles through the drawers, grabbing what she needs and throwing it into the small bag she'd left under the bed two years before when she unpacked. She snatches the three picture frames off the bedside table, hurriedly zipping the bag shut after tossing them in, and almost manages to signal to Beca that she's ready to go before a gruff voice echoes through the apartment.

"Chloe?" She sighs, closing her eyes, and sets the suitcase down at her feet. Damn it.

She doesn't respond, hoping that he'll think it was just the house settling and go back to sleep. When there's no further questioning for around a minute, she almost thinks that she's gotten away with it.

He calls out again just when she's about to reach down and carefully grasp the handle of the suitcase.

"Chloe! Where the fuck are you? Answer me when I speak to you!" She winces and opens her eyes, sending Beca a pleading glance. The eye contact isn't met; brunette is staring intensely down the hallway, her posture rigid. _"Chloe!"_ When her name is bellowed for the third time, Chloe can't hold back another cringe. She really, really doesn't want to be here. Mark's never been straight up abusive before, but she doesn't know what he'll do once he realizes the full extent of what's going on. He's already monumentally pissed off due to the events of last night, that much she can tell, and she has absolutely no desire to be on the receiving end of the kind of anger that's going to be released once he finds out what actually happened.

"Beca – " she starts, but the brunette holds up a hand to silence her.

"Remember what will happen after," is all she says before raising her voice. "She's in here, asshole!" A thud sounds from somewhere across the apartment, and Chloe suspects that he's fallen out of bed. Her suspicion proves correct a moment later when loud, stomping footsteps echo down the hall, and then he's standing there in the doorway, jeans half-fastened and his chest bare, expression alive with shock and anger.

"What the fuck is this, Chloe?" he roars, glaring down at both of them in fury. "Where the fuck did you go last night, without my permission? Who is _this_ bitch, and what is she doing in my apartment?" he prods a finger definitively at Beca, who smoothly steps back to avoid contact. "Did you let her in, you little slut? Is that where you were, off banging some bitch without my permission while I waited for you to come home?" Beca lets out a laugh at that, but it's cold and hardened by anger, not like the laughs that she has let out in Chloe's presence.

"That's pretty rich, big guy, coming from you," she hisses, and Chloe almost recoils at the tone even though it isn't directed at her. "Is that what you think she's been doing? Nice taste of your own medicine, isn't it, thinking that somebody you're supposed to have faith in has betrayed your trust?" Chloe has to hand it to her, she's not wasting any time getting to the point. She doesn't want to be here right now, but as long as she is, it's kind of nice to see Beca have the upper hand.

"Who the fuck are you?" Mark demands, staring at her like he can't quite believe this tiny woman is demeaning him in such a way. Chloe, despite her rising hatred for the man, can't help but understand his position to a small degree – Beca _is_ tiny, after all. But what Chloe knows, and what Mark clearly doesn't, yet, is that size is no clear guarantee of power where Beca is concerned. "Who do you think you are, speaking to me like that in my own house? Fucking disrespectful bitch." Chloe's hands shake with the force of the anger that shoots through her at the rude remark. Who does he think _he_ is, speaking to Beca like that?

"You're one to talk about disrespect, asshole," Beca replies coldly. "But before I even _start_ to get into that, let's talk about your clear incompetence as a dom – which, since you asked me so nicely to tell you who I am, I am here to rectify." Mark's look of plain astonishment would be funny were the situation not so serious. It quickly dissolves into anger, anyway, so Chloe doesn't have much time to feel conflicted. In fact, her faint curiosity turns to fear as Mark turns on her instead, directing his furious glare so harshly that she feels it might flatten her to the floor. It's the same stare that's had her on her knees in submission for the past two years, but right now, she can't honestly say that it's doing anything other than making her afraid.

Maybe that's where all her submission stemmed from, she realizes briefly, but now really isn't the time to wonder.

"You ungrateful little _slut,_ " Mark hisses, taking several steps in from the doorway so that Chloe is practically pressed against the dresser to keep a little distance between them. The knob of a drawer digs hard into her already aching back, causing her to bite down her lip to keep from crying out in discomfort. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Beca's hands twitch at the sight of her grimace. "Not only did you dare to disobey me when I told you to stay where I left you, but you had to go fuck some slut instead of coming home with me? Were you under the impression that I'm not satisfying you enough? _No one_ will satisfy you the way that I can, Chloe; certainly not _this_ cheap whore!"

"Don't call her that!" Chloe spits, with a surprising amount of venom, at the same time that Beca growls out a threatening, "Don't speak to her that way!" She moves past Mark to Chloe's side, brushing her arm gently in comfort before stepping in front of her protectively. "How dare you insinuate that Chloe was ever anything but faithful to you? She gave up her entire lifestyle for you, and you gave her nothing but shit in return. If anyone can be called ungrateful, it's you," she snaps. Her navy eyes are flashing with rage. "Don't even get me _started_ on your inability to satisfy, you arrogant dickhead; you gave her _nothing_ worth what she deserved. She can do _so_ much better than you, it's not even funny," she says scathingly. Mark's expression harbors a frightening amount of fury, but Beca's is pure hatred. Chloe can't decide which of them looks more dangerous.

(Ultimately, she knows she's going to go with Beca, but she knows that that's only working in her favor; Beca isn't going to hurt her. Mark could, and might at any moment.)

"Like who, for example?"

"Like me, and it's like _whom_ , you egotistical dumbass," Beca shoots back, and Chloe would laugh if she weren't so concerned about how this encounter is going to play out. Mark lets out a derisive snort, and it's decidedly the most unattractive thing she's ever witnessed.

"You seriously think you can satisfy her better than I can? I'm a _master_ , and that's what she needs," he chuckles, and it's not the kind of amusement that makes Chloe feel at all comfortable. Beca's fairly spitting when she responds.

"Actually, what she needs is someone who can give her love and affection balanced with consensual and respectful control." Beca sounds like a handbook on BDSM when she speaks, but her words are weighted and convincing, and they make Mark's face twist with something ugly that Chloe doesn't even want to know the name for. "She needs someone who will be trustworthy and devoted to her, and being a domme myself, I think I know a thing or two about that. And even if I didn't, I would still be better for her than you – if _anyone_ can ever say they're good enough for her – because not only do I know how to satisfy a woman, I know how to treat someone with love and respect. And maybe you know how to make a woman feel good – though quite frankly I doubt it – but the last time I checked, leaving a submissive alone, bound, gagged, and blindfolded, not to mention naked, when it's dark and freezing cold outside, isn't exactly the definition of loving and respectful. And it's _definitely_ not within the code of conduct of the community that you claim to be a part of, so unless you want to get your ass roasted by a group of people who have the ability to make you wish you'd never even _heard_ of this lifestyle, I suggest you step down now." Beca's lips are curling by the time she's finished with her tirade, and from what Chloe can see over the brunette's shoulder – it would normally be a lot, but she's hunkering down, which makes their height difference a lot less prominent – Mark is similarly ramped up. Ramped up enough, in fact, to give a not-so-light shove to Beca's shoulders that sends her staggering past Chloe into the dresser.

Chloe sees red.

She's in Mark's face before it even registers in her brain what she's doing, yelling something along the lines of, "Don't you fucking touch her!" – she can't quite tell what she's actually saying; everything is a little muffled – and then suddenly, her ears are ringing, she's on the ground with a burning sensation in her cheek, and Beca's fist is plowing into the side of Mark's nose with a strength that none of them seem to have been aware that she has. Chloe doesn't really understand what's happening. Her brain is feeling a bit foggy right now; all she knows is that one moment Beca was owning this bastard, and now Mark's got blood flowing down his face, they're all a little banged up, and things have escalated to a physical level that might get them all into trouble if one more thing goes wrong.

She tries to tune in as Beca continue to blast Mark with rage, wanting to hear what the brunette is saying that is making the man watch in furious disbelief as he attempts to stem the flow of blood from where Beca clearly broke his nose.

" . . . call you in for assault and violation of community laws, so you'd better step back and let this woman walk away from here knowing that she's a human being and not something you think you can own, because you clearly don't know how to do it properly, and being a dom does not constitute depriving someone of their humanity or integrity. A submissive deserves to be _cherished_ ; giving up complete and utter control means trust and intimacy and vulnerability, and the fact that they place that kind of faith in another human being is _beautiful_. If you can't see how priceless that is, you don't deserve to have that faith put in your hands. I may not be a perfect domme, but at least I understand how special it is to be trusted with something so precious. I swear to every God I do and don't believe in, I will treasure anyone who decides I'm worthy of that kind of faith. And yes, I would be _thrilled_ to be Chloe's mistress, but if I'm ever permitted the _honor_ of that title, I will do so with her consent for the sake of giving her pleasure, the way a _true_ domme should, and I'll do it with proper restraints instead of a fucking nylon rope."

Chloe's hearing is coming back from where, she's presuming, she got smacked in the ear when Mark was aiming for her face. She doesn't quite have it in her to do much more than struggle to stand up and lean heavily against the dresser while she waits for her balance to return, but she's alert enough to register that Beca basically just declared her devotion, and in more words than she ever expected to hear. That fact resonates deeply with her, and it's enough to give her the strength to push herself away from the support of the furniture and call out softly to the domme.

"Beca . . ." The response is instantaneous; Beca spins around on the spot, eyes raking up and down to swiftly survey any damage done, and Chloe registers the blossoming of warmth in her belly with the realization that Beca has just dropped an important argument, not to mention her pride, and potentially even her safety, to turn her back on Mark and tend to Chloe's needs. She watches as Beca lands him with one last kick to the groin – seriously, her legs are short enough to do that? – and crosses the room to the redhead. She lifts both of Chloe's hands to press a reverent kiss to the knuckles of each, and bends down. When she straightens back up, one hand is grasping Chloe's suitcase. The other tangles firmly with Chloe's, and then she's guiding her out of the room and through the apartment without so much as a backward glance at the man leaning heavily against the bedroom wall.

They descend the stairs in silence, Chloe unable to do much more than stare at Beca in utter wonderment, and storm out of the building across the street to the car. Beca pops the trunk and settles the suitcase inside, her movements now much calmer and more collected. She shuts the trunk and locks it, and then turns swiftly around. She's up in front of Chloe in an instant, taking her trembling hands in both of hers and gazing deeply into her eyes.

"Are you all right?" she asks tenderly, sweeping red hair back to brush gentle fingers across the fading red mark that indicates where she was slapped. Chloe nods wordlessly, unable to speak; vaguely, in the back of her mind, she registers that this is the first time in her life that she has been truly stunned. She knows that she's watching Beca with a look of pure awe and adoration, and rewind a few hours and she might try to reign herself in, but after what has just occurred, she can't bring herself to care. No one has ever, _ever_ bared their soul for her, subjected themselves to abuse for her sake, in the way that Beca just did.

She tries to tell Beca as much, but her throat is dry, and she can't seem to find the proper words to express the wonder and gratitude that she's feeling in this moment.

"Beca – I – I can't begin to – you just – " she tries stammering, but then Beca's eyes flicker with something indescribable, and words fail her completely for a moment. She allows herself a brief period of silence to gather her thoughts before swallowing hard and trying again. She means to thank her, but instead what she comes up with is, "Did you mean that?" After the fact, she supposes it's a viable question. It's a pressing one, at least; there's absolutely no _way_ that Beca can deny any of the things she said only minutes ago, and not knowing whether they were truly heartfelt or spoken only for the sake of the situation is practically _killing_ Chloe.

"Which part of it?" She sounds like she's being careful, but she's gazing so intensely into Chloe's eyes that she thinks they should logically both be going blind, and her hand is still caressing the edge of Chloe's jaw, and honestly, this moment feels like the pull you start to notice happening beneath your boat right before it sails over a waterfall. Chloe almost chokes trying to get the words out from the increible heat that's building in her stomach and her chest, so low that she feels it might pull her underground and simultaneously so high that it feels it might come leaping out of her throat.

What escapes her is almost a whimper, but she manages to speak.

"About – about – _all_ of it," she whispers, and her words seem to get stolen by the air the moment they escape. The unnamable element in Beca's gaze intensifies, and Chloe almost gasps at the force of what she sees there, building in enormous heat behind stormy eyes. It's hot and powerful and raging in intensity, and Chloe swears that the sight of it almost knocks her out.

"I meant every word I said, Chloe." Beca's voice isn't trembling, as Chloe knows her own is; it's steady and low, but it's heavy with promise and meaning, the sound of it practically weighing down on Chloe like a force that presses in on her spine and curves her body downwards until it's pliant and exposed at Beca's feet. Automatically, she glances down, almost as though to check that her feet are still planted firmly on the pavement.

When she lifts her gaze back up, the look in Beca's eyes nearly makes her knees give out beneath her. Her heartbeat is going wild, heat is rushing through her in places she didn't even know _existed_ , and she feels like she's about to faint, but she holds on, because it's by far the most intense thing she's ever experience, but she'd much rather be seeing Beca's gorgeous eyes filled with whatever this emotion than the inside of her own eyelids.

"Beca," she manages to gasp out, not knowing what she means to say, not knowing _why_ she needs to express it, but it's the only word in her mind, and then it's on her lips like her brain doesn't even have a say. Beca's gazing back at her with all of the intensity of whatever it is that's burning between them like a fire far out of control, and her lips don't seem to move as she responds in kind.

"Chloe." And then she can't think anymore, her brain is _gone_ , her thoughts entirely extinguished, because Beca's lips are on hers and the only thing she can register is shock and pleasure and intense, overpowering _relief_.

It's not like anything she can describe, but the closest Chloe can come to understanding something akin to what's coursing through her and into Beca and around them in the air is what must happen when a star explodes – not a supernova, but more like a big bang, when there's nothing but a mathematical point and then suddenly there's _everything_ , and it's burning and becoming dimensions and galaxies and energy and existence. It's more powerful than anything she ever knew could be, and it nearly brings her to her knees, but then, like she knew, like she sensed it happening before it could ever occur, Beca is holding her up.

Beca is everywhere, _everything_ ; one arm is wrapped firmly around Chloe's waist, tugging her in closer, bowing her into her body, and her other hand is tangled tightly in her hair, possessing, claiming, _owning_ , and her lips are hot and insistent, but most of all it's passionate, and Chloe feels her body melting into Beca's, surrendering to the control and passion and devotion that radiate off of the woman who has wrapped her in her arms like she can never let her go.

With her mind failing and the feeling of everything else taking control, Chloe threads her fingers through silky hair and curves her body into the warmth and softness of the one that presses urgently against her own.

It could be a risky thing to surrender her entire being, but cradled in Beca's arms, kissing her like they're dying and they're each other's last breath of air, she understands that she never had a choice.

* * *

 **Guest 'G' - Yes, I'm sure it does. That story was my main inspiration for writing this. Please let me know if I'm coming too close to that, actually, because I don't want to make them too much alike.**

 **xXFreakyUnicorn7689Xx - Your PMing is disabled, so I'm responding here: Thank you! Also, your use of OM-aca-G allowed me to finally figure out what in the hell it is Emily says when she gets accepted lol.**

 **Guest on August 14th - Thanks! Glad you think so!**

 **Guest on August 13th - Thank you! And no worries haha; they're on their way.**

 **Froggie - I'm glad you think so. That's absolutely my intention. (see the above)**

 **Guest on August 2nd - Yes, Chloe is a little codependent. That's part of what is going on here (and part of why Beca is being a little slow in this chapter). She's going to have to do a little maturing, though she does some of it pretty quickly here, and while it may seem like being a sub might exacerbate that codependency, it can also help if Beca uses it to teach her how to be her own person again. It won't last long.**

 **Guest #2 on August 2nd - Thank you! I hope you're not disappointed. ;)**


	3. Fire in My Veins

**Word count: 21,640**

 **Special shoutout - Saudi Arabia readers; I've just come from spending several years there, and my guess is that there aren't that many people in that country who would read this type of thing - so I'm actually curious if I know you. My profile info on here may or may not be accurate, so don't judge by that. Talk to me?**

 **A/N: Look what I have for you! This chapter should have what you're looking for. ;)  
**

 **Guys, this was _thirty-nine_ pages on Word. It's ridiculous. It's also ridiculous how long this took, but it's mostly because life has been very, very stressful recently and has gotten in the way. I know shit's serious when my shabby little movie theater job is what I'm most excited about every day. That being said, I really hope I did this justice, seeing as you've all been anticipating it so excitedly. Also, I may be out of communication for two/three days because of a stupid school camping trip that I'm trying very hard to avoid. **

**Part of the reason I've been so distracted is because I watched Would You Rather, which for some reason I have developed an unhealthy fascination with. I actually wrote a tiny fic for that if you'd like to check it out; it's still on its first chapter, and it's by no means my best work, but I'm hoping it'll be interesting.**

 **For those of you who haven't seen it yet, Snow's new movie Dial A Prayer is totally worth a watch.**

 **The tiny portion of a song mentioned here is _Buttons_ by the Pussycat Dolls, but the version I have in my head is a slightly slower rendition of the version sung by All-Night Yahtzee in their 2014 ICCA set. One of the girls in it actually looks vaguely like Chloe, which helps.  
**

 **Guest review on August 23rd - I'm glad that the switches are working for you. I agree; for some reason, in non BDSM fics, I see Aubrey as a total bottom, but when cuffs and whips enter the picture she's a domme all the way.**

 **Anyways, I hope you like this one! Let me know your thoughts!**

 **Teddie**

* * *

Chloe's hands are wrapped around her mug of hot chocolate – Stacie's specialty, she's come to discover, flavored with vanilla and a pinch of nutmeg – and she's enjoying the warmth seeping through the ceramic into her palms. The heat's been cranked up since they woke and found it at a ridiculously low temperature, but it hasn't quite been on long enough for her to totally warm up, and it's _freezing_ outside. Quite literally, according to the thermometer outside the kitchen window. They've only been up for about an hour and a half, and Stacie has so far expressed no fewer than eight times that anything below eighty degrees is for polar bears and crazy people, though she has had no adequate response every time Beca asks her why she's still living in New York if she hasn't yet grown a layer of white fur.

Privately, Chloe can't help but agree; having spent the majority of her life in the south, she's determined that she will never truly understand why anyone would voluntarily live in a climate where a minimum of four layers of fuzzy blankets is required in order to be able to sleep without fear of frostbite. That, and she will never get over the shock of seeing the prices on heating bills after November.

Either way, she's grateful for the heat of the mug she's holding, and looking across the counter at the way her companion is gripping her own cup like a lifeline, she can tell that Beca feels pretty much the same.

It's been about a week since their initial and spontaneous agreement outside Mark's apartment building, and since then it seems that there has been no end to Beca's efforts to make Chloe comfortable in her new home. She's been taken on at least three complete tours of the house, memorizing every nick and cranny of each room with the exception of the back bedroom, which Stacie ominously refers to as _the Dungeon_. Beca insists that it's nothing of the sort; if anything, she says, it ought to be referred to as _the Safehouse_ , with all the precautions she's taken to make sure everything is properly tied down and bolted to the wall. (Chloe refuses to give Beca the satisfaction of admitting it, but hearing the brunette use phrases like 'tied down' and 'bolted to wall' in her husky morning voice over their morning cocoa makes her feel a twisty combination of nervous anticipation and irritation that she's still nervously anticipating).

It's Saturday morning, and a little earlier than Chloe would ideally like to be up, but Stacie had woken her at six with a shit-eating grin and far too much energy for before-sunrise activities, informing her that Beca had been up since four making lists and now needed Chloe's help. Chloe knew that already, having woken with Beca as the brunette rolled out of bed, but she doesn't need to tell Stacie that. She has her own room by this point, the spare a little ways down the hall from Beca's, but so far the only thing she's used it for is storing her clothing. The room is perfectly comfortable, but Chloe sees no reason to not-sleep in her own bed without Beca when she can be sleeping in Beca's bed _with_ Beca.

Either way, she's up now, and sitting across the island from the brunette in question, who is indeed currently scribbling out yet another list that she won't permit Chloe to read. She claims that she's going shopping, but the intense concentration she's devoting to the task and Stacie's smirks as she scuttles back and forth searching for her work clothes give Chloe the feeling that she's not talking about groceries.

Her suspicions are proved accurate when Beca temporarily lays down the pen, pushing back her chair from the counter and nudging her glasses up her nose. (Chloe still holds firmly to her statement that they make the brunette look cute; Beca has so far ignored any mention of the conversation ever since Chloe's initial cooing when she first wore them to breakfast).

"Chlo, we have some things to discuss," she starts directly, as though preparing to get down to business. They progressed to nicknames somewhere around day three, making Stacie _awww_ and clasp her hands in front of her like an enthusiastic aunt every time.

"I figured. You got up at _four_ , Becs," she points out. They all know Beca's inability to rise before the sun, particularly on weekends, so she's known since Stacie woke her that something had to be up.

"We need to discuss the particulars of this . . . arrangement," Beca states simply. She doesn't beat around the bush – something that Chloe, who is hardly aware that there's even a bush to begin with, sincerely appreciates.

"You don't need to be so clinical, Becs; it's called a relationship." Beca rolls her eyes, and Chloe can't hold back a giggle at the way it looks behind her thick-framed glasses.

"Fine. Relationship. And stop laughing; you know they're just for reading. Don't make me put in contacts." Chloe's pout, while technically unfair, has the desired effect of making Beca choke a little on her cocoa, and she knows she's won. Beca glares at her over the rim of her cup.

"You're going to regret that, Chloe, when I can actually do something to counter your back talk," she warns, and Chloe swallows hard. She knows it isn't an idle threat; Beca has made several similar ones in the past few days, knowing that Chloe is getting antsy due to how long she's taking to arrange things and unwilling to let it go by without comment.

"As I was saying," Beca continues, smirking a little at the lost look on Chloe's face. "We have some details to discuss. For instance, comfort zones. What you are and are not okay with doing. Safewords. Things like that." Chloe nods, taking a sip of her drink to avoid answering when her throat still feels a little tight. She waits a minute before responding.

"What should my safeword be then?" she asks stoically, trying desperately to pretend like the previous discussion had had no effect on her whatsoever. Beca takes her glasses off and sets them down on the counter, folding her hands in front of her seriously.

"What do you think it should be? It needs to be something that you're comfortable using; that you'll remember and that won't get mixed up with anything else we're saying." Chloe bites the inside of her cheek, trying very hard not to consider what those other things they could be saying could be, and casts her mind around for an idea.

Unsurprisingly, her thoughts lead her to Beca, who is watching her intently, and as she sees stormy navy eyes flash with curiosity, with anticipation, it comes to her.

"Thunder," she blurts out without further consideration, causing Beca to raise an inquisitive eyebrow. "I . . . yeah. Thunder." Beca raises her other eyebrow to match, but doesn't ask for an explanation, for which Chloe is grateful. She's gotten ridiculously comfortable with Beca in the short time that she's known her, but she doesn't feel like explaining why she chose the word. Not now. Beca's eyes are gorgeous; they're the first thing about her that captivated Chloe, and above all, they make her feel safe. They're deep and revealing, and Chloe can read in them every emotion that Beca doesn't express, that she _can't_ express, and she can't help but feel that even with their strangely close relationship, she's not quite ready to reveal that she knows something that intimate.

They've grown close, closer than Chloe expected them to in such a short amount of time; she had expected it to plateau fairly quickly, perhaps after coming to know each other on a specific level, but it _hasn't_. They've only grown closer, and with an even more alarming rapidity as the days go by. It's an exponential growth, Chloe decides, and it works for them. Even though she failed every math class past fifth grade.

Regardless of their closeness, Chloe is eager to be having this conversation. She'd entertained a similar but much briefer, less detail-oriented discussion with Mark on her first day in his home, but it wasn't nearly the same. Beca is devoting a lot of time and energy and focus to making sure that this works for both of them, and she can't help but be appreciative. Mark only ever cared about what he had wanted to do, not about her limits, and even though she's known from the start that choosing Beca as her mistress is going to turn out to be a wonderful decision, she's been handed constant reminders over the past several days of just how wise of a choice it is.

"Thunder it is, then," Beca grants, and Chloe can see the concentration in her features as she files the information away. It warms her inside to see the dedication Beca is giving to this; it makes her feel important, and while she knows that Beca will never make her feel anything less than precious, it's still nice to witness.

"Let's start with the basics of what you're comfortable with doing," Beca continues seriously. Chloe shifts in her chair to get more comfortable, ready to begin. "Is bondage okay?" It's a mark of how comfortable she's gotten with Beca that Chloe doesn't turn red. She's an easy blusher, she's discovered in her time in this household, and it's a little embarrassing how quickly Beca can induce such a reaction.

"Beca, you found me bound and gagged; I'm pretty sure that – "

"I'm well aware of the state you were in at the time, Chloe," Beca interrupts sternly. "I'm asking you if you're _comfortable_ with it." Chloe sucks in a breath, knowing that Beca has hit the nail on the head. She _hadn't_ been comfortable with the position Mark had put her in. Part of her thinks it would make sense for that to translate to her likes and dislikes now, wondering if her previous discomfort would act as a deterrent in a new situation, but hearing Beca acknowledge it, she finds that she doesn't mind.

In fact, the thought of being bound at Beca's mercy definitely isn't an unpleasant one.

"Yes, I'm comfortable with it," she says softly, and Beca gives her an approving once-over.

"Thank you for answering me honestly. Now, what kind of restraints would you prefer? Leather cuffs, or handcuffs? Silk ties? Chains?" Beca isn't messing around with this conversation, and Chloe appreciates the thought that she's putting into it. Beca seems hell-bent on ensuring her complete comfort and enjoyment, and it's a nice feeling to know that her needs are being given so much attention.

"I . . . leather cuffs are fine; handcuffs make me feel funny," she admits. "I know it's not their purpose, but they always make me feel like I've actually done something wrong." Beca nods, scratching something out on the list in front of her. Chloe's dying to see what's written there, but she knows better than to snoop, even when it clearly has something to do with her. If Beca wants her to know, she'll tell her when the time is appropriate.

"No handcuffs, then. Silk ties and chains?"

"Ties work. Chains . . . I guess would be okay, but maybe not at first?" she tries tentatively. She'd thought before actively entering the lifestyle that she would be drawn to that, but Mark had never made her feel comfortable with it. She knows that Beca can, _will_ , but she's not quite ready to have it reintroduced so soon. She wants to be completely comfortable with Beca at first; they can start to test boundaries once they've figured out the nuances of this relationship.

"Noted." Beca scribbles something down and then looks up to meet her gaze again, her navy eyes thoughtful. "While we're at it, how do you feel about wearing a collar?" Chloe feels her throat constrict at the thought. She has to swallow hard several times before answering.

"Collars – collars are good," she manages to choke out. Beca notes that down, and is opening her mouth to speak again when something occurs to Chloe. "Just – not too tight, please? Or too thick. Thick collars make me feel claustrophobic." Beca watches her intently for a moment, twiddling her pencil around her fingers.

"No breathplay, then, I'm assuming? Or gags?" she wonders. Chloe chokes a little bit on her cocoa again, inhaling the hot liquid so quickly that it scalds the roof of her mouth. Beca wordlessly pushes a water glass in her direction, and she gulps it down gratefully.

"No gags, please," she gasps out when she can speak again, eyes watering. "I . . . breathplay wouldn't be . . . maybe?" she says quietly. "I – I don't know." Beca eyes her thoughtfully, lips pursed the slightest bit in concentration.

"Why is that?" she asks after a moment. "Breathplay is much more intensive; gags wouldn't restrict your breathing, but being choked reduces your oxygen flow almost completely. What makes you comfortable with one and not the other?" It's not judgmental; Beca merely sounds curious, and Chloe knows that it's her duty to communicate clearly about things like this. She shrugs uncomfortably, not quite willing to meet Beca's questioning gaze.

"I . . . I'm not sure," she mumbles. "I just . . . I think I would feel . . . safer . . . with a person restricting my breathing. It's harder to get your attention if I'm gagged. Plus, I can keep myself quiet. Breathplay is . . . different. I've never done it before, but I've always been curious about it. Just maybe . . . not right away?" She doesn't really know how to decipher her own feelings right now; she can't deny that the thought of Beca choking her makes her feel fluttery inside, but despite their growing familiarity, she's not sure that she's ready to experience intimacy on that level yet. It can go in the bag with the chains, maybe, to be considered later on.

"Of course not right away," Beca soothes, appearing to understand her distress. She sweeps her thumb lightly across Chloe's knuckles in a calming gesture. "Even if you were totally comfortable with that, I don't think I would be, yet. I would be honored for you to place that kind of trust in me, and I would _never_ abuse that privilege, but we don't have to talk about it now." Chloe lets out a grateful breath that she wasn't aware she was holding.

"Thank you," she murmurs, reaching out to catch Beca's hand briefly as it retreats. Beca grants her a smile.

"Of course, Chloe. That's what we're discussing this for," she says reassuringly, before brushing her hair out of her eyes and returning her attention to the list. "Are you comfortable wearing a blindfold?"

The nervous tension in Chloe's shoulders drops, and she appreciatively turns her thoughts to a more comfortable note.

"Of course."

"Spreader bars?"

"Sure."

"Saint Andrew's cross?"

"Not a problem."

"Shocks?"

"As long as it's not too painful."

"It won't be. Needles?"

"I – I guess. No blood though, please. Or anything permanent."

"Of course not. I would never leave a permanent mark. How about a suspension harness?"

"I have a fear of heights."

"That's a no, then." Beca scrawls something else out and looks up to meet Chloe's eyes. "Can you tell me off the top of your head anything you're _not_ comfortable with?" she inquires. Chloe's eyes drop. She's never really gone into this before – Mark never exactly made a point of asking her what she was and was not comfortable with doing, with the exception of a few things as they came up. She'd never used her safeword with him, weighted with a distinct feeling that he would not be pleased with her inability to handle something. She knows she's pushed herself beyond her limits before, and seeing the focus and attentiveness in Beca's eyes, she doesn't want to repeat that. With Mark, it would have made her feel guilty to cop out of something that made her uncomfortable, but something tells her that with Beca to permit something that she isn't okay with would be a violation of trust.

"I . . . I, um . . ." Beca reaches under her jaw to lift her chin with a single fingertip. Her eyes are warm and concerned, and Chloe squirms a little at the heated glow the sight invokes in her chest.

"Chloe, I want you to be honest with me," is her sincere request. "I don't ever want to do anything that might make you uncomfortable. That's not the point of this. The point is to figure out a way of satisfying your needs and making you feel good, and that won't happen if you don't feel safe. I don't think I need to remind you that the first rule of this kind of relationship is that we both need to communicate with complete honesty." Chloe gazes back at her for a moment, simply allowing herself to get lost in the sincerity of Beca's eyes. She needs to clear her thoughts for a moment, and letting her mind float with the security of Beca's attentiveness supporting her is exactly what she needs.

After a minute, she shakes her head to clear it and lets out a long, shaky breath.

"Okay," she breathes. "I don't really know where to start, but I guess, um . . . no knives is the first obvious one," she starts, settling for something easy. "Blood makes me throw up, so nothing that will make me bleed. I really don't handle extreme heat well, so I guess no candle wax." Beca nods, writing furiously as she gestures Chloe to continue. "Um, ice is okay? I don't like being cold for a long period of time, but I kind of like the adrenaline rush, so that's okay. Just not a lot at once, or I'll start shivering and I won't be able to stop." Beca stops writing and looks up, curiosity evident in her expression.

"How about whips?" she asks. "Floggers, riding crops, that sort of thing?" This time, Chloe can't hold back a blush. She turns a delicate shade of red and squirms a little in her seat.

"Yeah, that's fine," she admits quietly. Beca watches her closely for a moment, intently examining something in her face. Chloe wonders what she's looking for; if she's searching for hesitance or discomfort that she suspects the redhead is concealing.

Beca should know better than that, even after such a short amount of time; Chloe can be tentative, but she can't fathom hiding something that Beca would consider so crucial to their dynamic.

"Chloe," Beca starts, and Chloe can tell from her tone that this is going to be a different kind of question. She's a little relieved, and also a little put out – part of her likes discussing details, especially when they revolve around something like this. "How much pain are you willing to experience?"

It's a viable question, an important one, and Chloe finds herself answering before her mind can really process it. When the recognition of that hits her, she realizes that even though they haven't started any sort of play, and likely won't for a while – at least until Beca deals with her mysterious lists – she's already slipping into her sub mindset. It used to make her nervous, with Mark, because there was always a lingering question in the back of her mind of why she could still submit to someone who clearly didn't have her best interests at heart.

With Beca, she finds that it does nothing except urge her on.

"A lot," she answers simply, and when she registers vaguely that she should probably be more specific for Beca's sake, she hastens to elaborate. "I don't like being left with a lot of marks, but some are all right. I'm not . . . overly into pain. Not to the extent that you'll have to watch me in case I let you go too far, but I enjoy it. But mostly I love to lose control. To _be_ controlled. I love being helpless if I'm being treated well." It's a little more than Beca asked her to expose, but she feels like it's an appropriate thing to say given their situation. She knows that Beca will treat her well, and while it's hard for her to convey that trust in words, she figures that saying it in a simple fashion will suffice.

Beca is watching her with a look in her eyes that's a lot like desire, and when she speaks, her voice is strained with want.

"Then I will take your control, Chloe," is all that she says, but the expression in her eyes speaks of longing beyond anything Chloe has ever witnessed directed at her. It's a look that makes something pull tightly in her belly, and she yearns to touch, to press close and soak in their dual desire like sunshine all through her skin.

Her heartbeat stutters obnoxiously, and she realizes that whatever Beca has planned for her, she'll be lucky if she doesn't explode with anticipation while she waits for it to occur.

"I'd like for you to come shopping with me today," Beca says abruptly. Chloe's eyes snap back to her, and she sees that the list has been folded up and the pen laid aside. They're done, at least for now, and she can't help the excitement that rises in her throat at the thought that she's that much closer to becoming Beca's. The brunette is standing, tucking the paper into the pocket of her jeans with a businesslike attitude that Chloe isn't at all certain how to approach.

"Shopping?" It's the only response she can think of, too distracted by the way Beca's jeans hug her hips to do more than repeat her words back at her like a parrot. Beca shoots her an amused glance.

"Yes, Chloe. Shopping. There are some specific stores I need to visit, and you could use some clothes other than the few we picked up the other day. Plus, I was thinking that we could spend some time together afterwards – maybe have lunch, or take a walk somewhere. Does that sound agreeable?" She's smirking a little, like she knows what Chloe's response will be before the suggestion even registers, and as the thought of spending a little carefree time with Beca settles in her head, Chloe is forced to admit that's she probably does.

After all, why _wouldn't_ she want to? So far the time they've spent together has been, while not stressful, driven and scheduled with a purpose. She's been shown around the house, taught how to cook a couple meals, and been settled in to her new room. She's even spent a couple nights watching movies with Stacie – Beca swears on her life that nothing can convince her to watch one, not even the promise of popcorn and Stacie's famous ginger cookies – but so far, she hasn't had any real down time with Beca, who has been absent for the most part during daylight hours, working. Chloe keeps forgetting that she has an actual job, as does Stacie, and the few times that she's been left alone in the house while they both go to work, it's forced her to think a little about maybe getting a job of her own again. Beca's promised to help her with that, in fact, once she feels ready to leave the house on her own, and they've had a few conversations about it, but despite all that, she's never spent time just with Beca, just for the purpose of _spending time together_.

When she considers what they're planning on diving into, she realizes that it's something they should probably get used to doing.

* * *

Chloe admires the snow-dusted lampposts and artistically arranged twinkling lights as they pull into a parking lot behind a block of high-end SoHo boutiques. Looking around at the signs designating every spot as reserved, she notices that the lot is private, and looks at Beca quizzically as they step from the car. The brunette gestures in a wide, sweeping movement, indicating the lot they're standing in and the two that flank it further down the street.

"These parking lots are reserved for well-known members of the community," she explains, beeping the locks and offering Chloe an arm to lead her down the icy sidewalk. "People like me don't tend to come here often, but when we do, we're known for our . . . generous contributions. We're very busy, so when we make an appearance, people like to make things easy for us." Chloe's features pinch into a puzzled frown.

"People like you? Why are people so eager to treat you well?" she wants to know. Beca chuckles lowly, guiding them around an ice patch.

"I've been a member of this community for seven years, Chloe," she clarifies. "I've had time to build up a decent reputation at the same time that I've gained a steady following as a music producer. Combine those two powers, and people see me as pretty influential."

Chloe stares at her in awe, not bothering to watch her feet. She knows Beca won't let her fall, and right now, she honestly can't do much more than gape at her in fascination.

"So you're hot shit?" It's by no means the most elegant way of phrasing it, and when she realizes what she's said, she feels a little contrite, but truthfully, it's about all she can manage in way of a retort.

Beca laughs, actually full-on laughs, tossing her head back and letting the sound ring out through the chilly air, and Chloe decides that it's the most beautiful thing she's ever heard. It's ridiculously cheesy and cliché, but it _is_ ; she can't help it. Beca is beautiful, and to see her so carefree makes Chloe's heart skip several beats.

"Yes, Chloe, I'm hot shit," the domme chuckles, sending an amused smile the redhead's way. "Is there anything else you'd like to know?" She's just teasing, and it's obvious, but her words spark a realization in Chloe, and suddenly, she's back to feeling curious.

"Yes, actually," she says abruptly, stopping in her tracks. Beca, who isn't expecting it, gets a little jolted as she tries to keep walking, and then turns with a frown. "You say you've been part of the community for seven years, but you're younger than I am – by a lot, actually. If you're only twenty-three, that means you started living the lifestyle when you were . . ."

"Sixteen. Yes, I was," Beca finishes for her, and suddenly, Chloe can't read her face as easily. She doesn't sound irritated, exactly, but there's a slight bit of tension behind her words that wasn't there before, and her expression is definitely closed off. Chloe feels a twinge of guilt when she realizes that it's probably due to sadness. Beca doesn't shut down when she's angry or uncomfortable; she speaks up and lets her opinions be known, so a memory must have been drudged up that's upsetting her in some way. Hastily, she tries to amend it; she doesn't want this day to be spent in awkwardness.

Besides, awkwardness is ridiculous considering what they're here for.

"I'm sorry if I've overstepped – " she starts to apologize, but Beca cuts her off with a brief shake of the head.

"Don't. It's all right; I'll tell you at some point. Just not right now – it's neither the time nor place to be having such a conversation," she says firmly, and Chloe registers a sense of relief to see that her usual domme persona has slid back into place. Maybe it's Beca's way of masking her feelings, but Chloe isn't one to comment. She's used to this Beca; she knows how to respond to her, and right now, feeling a little uneasy out in public, that's all she really needs.

"Sorry." She offers the domme her signature bright smile, reaching for her hand again. Beca only hesitates for a brief, almost unnoticeable second before returning the smile and resuming their stroll to the business side of the street.

The first thing Chloe notices is that while they may be in SoHo, this is not the touristy, expensive assortment of flower shops and clothing stores that she'd thought it to be at first glance. It's still elegant, and the block gives off an unmistakable air of sophistication, but it's a different sort of sophistication than what Chloe's used to seeing.

In her two years with Mark, the most she'd ever seen of the lifestyle in public was at dingy leather bars and fetish clubs where people covered less than they displayed and loud, dirty music blasted from inexpensive speakers. And even that hadn't been a common occurrence; he had preferred to keep her inside. He had never directly stated his shame at being seen with her in public, but she had always felt it hovering there like a conversation that didn't want to be had.

This scene is something entirely different, and nothing like she's ever pictured before. She never imagined that _sex shops_ could look like high-end boutiques, but they _do_ ; the street is lined with them, and almost before she can register it, Beca's leading her into one like it's just another Abercrombie or Footlocker.

She barely has time to take in the scene when Beca gestures towards a bench beside the door and tells her to sit and wait, pressing a brief kiss to the top of her head as a pacifier before striding over to the counter where a woman sits flicking through a magazine, looking surprisingly more like a Vogue model than the owner of a sex shop.

"Lady B! So nice to see you out and about," is about all Chloe manages to catch of the exchange that follows, Beca's low reply blending into a mesh of sound that she can't quite make out from where she's sitting. A couple head nods are thrown in her direction, and curious eyes flicker up briefly from _People_ to give her a once over, but she ignores the fact that they're discussing her in favor of taking in as much as she can from her current vantage point.

To her surprise, the shelves in front of her are lined with books. Granted, they're not of the sort that Chloe would feel comfortable displaying on her coffee table should family members come to visit, but as she eyes them curiously, she notes that some of them actually look tasteful. Not that she would read them, she tries to chide herself, although who is she kidding? She's sitting in a sex shop with a well-known, influential dominatrix to whom she has agreed to submit. She isn't exactly treading in the realm of vanilla.

To Chloe's surprise, she hardly has time to examine the covers of the books on the shelf in front of her. Within what seems to be only a moment, Beca is standing in front of her again, bag in hand and an expectant look on her face.

"Chloe? You ready to go?" The redhead nods, standing up and trying not to peer curiously into the bag that Beca's holding. She can't help glancing down briefly, however, and the moment she does, Beca sends her a pointed stare. She swallows hard and averts her eyes, obediently following the domme back onto the street.

They make it through several stores before lunchtime, and none are of the same strain as the first. Most are clothing stores, in which Beca insists on buying her an amount of clothing that isn't so much large as it is expensive. The brunette urges her into jeans and coats; sweaters, scarves, and yoga pants, and despite the fact that they're all under sophisticated brand names Chloe can't even begin to pronounce, the choices are practical, and she can tell that they're of good quality.

She promises at least twice to pay Beca back, but the domme waves it off, saying that it's the very least she can do, and doesn't Chloe want to please her?

(The answer is yes, wholeheartedly so, and Beca knows it, so she doesn't really have a viable reason to protest.)

By the time one thirty rolls around, they're seated in the corner of a cozy little café, eating sandwiches and discussing Stacie's turbulent relationship with Aubrey, both of whom, Chloe discovers, are professional dominatrices. She questions Beca as to the nuances of such as relationship; she doesn't understand how their relationship works when they're both so inclined to be dominant.

"They make it work somehow. I think that they don't actually let their relationship intersect with the lifestyle that much, seeing as they're both involved in it to such an extent already, but when they do, I'm under the impression that Aubrey has a tendency to take the lead. Stacie's more of a switch than she is, so it balances out," Beca explains, taking a sip of her cocoa. It's the second one of the day for both of them; normally Chloe wouldn't be so indulgent, but it's cold out, and Beca has been insisting that she let herself be pampered. It's been a long time since anyone has suggested that – it might even be the first time since leaving home nine years ago – so she doesn't exactly feel like complaining.

"What's a switch?" Beca raises an eyebrow in surprise.

"You've never encountered one?" At Chloe's shake of the head, she sets her mug down to properly explain. Beca uses her hands a lot when she's talking, Chloe has noticed, and she makes a mental note to ask the brunette about it someday. "A switch is someone who can function either as a domme or a submissive, depending on necessity, a relationship, or personal preference. Sometimes people will lean more to one side, but often it's a fairly equal balance. They're kind of like the bisexuals of the BDSM world," she says with a grin. Chloe returns it with a smile, but she takes the opportunity to ask Beca about something that's been on her mind for the past few days.

"Beca? Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot, Red," the brunette replies, leaning back casually in her chair. Chloe bites her lip nervously. She doesn't want to appear rude or upfront about it, but she's curious, and considering that they're heading into a form of a relationship, she'd really like to know the answer.

"Are you bi?" She's not prepared for Beca to laugh, but she does; a low, rumbling chuckle that makes Chloe feel like something is vibrating inside her bloodstream.

"Gayer than Ellen Page on Broadway," she smirks.

"Oh."

"I'm assuming you're bi?" Beca counters, peering over the rim of her mug. Chloe starts to nod, but then turns it into a shrug at the last second.

"I like people," she says simply. It earns her an approving nod and a mumble of something that sounds an awful lot like _that's a shocker_ , but the room is loud, and Beca's mouth is half-full of sandwich, so she can't be totally sure.

She's gotten her mind onto a curious track, now, though, and it makes her spit out what she's been itching to ask all week.

"Beca?"

"Chloe," Beca deadpans, and Chloe laughs a little, but quickly sobers. She feels a nervous little quiver in her stomach at what she's about to ask. She doesn't want to push Beca, but then again, it's been a few days, and she's lying if she says she isn't getting a little desperate. That's not even when she considers the conversation they had this morning, which definitely kicked her impatience up a notch. They've both had time to think this over, to think it over and then _re_ think it, and honestly, she's starting to feel a bit antsy.

And more than a little turned on, if the tightening in her belly at the wink Beca throws her over her hot chocolate is anything to go by.

Unsure of how to phrase it without sounding either impatient or prudish, she blurts out, "When are we actually going to do this? Because it feels to me at this point like you're just stalling." She almost claps a hand over her mouth the second the words escape, because Beca's reaction is a combination of shocked and what looks a little bit like hurt, and it makes twisty tendrils of angst and guilt snake their way up her throat from somewhere the pit of her stomach. "I – I'm sorry, Beca; I – " Beca holds up a hand to stop her, eyes flashing a warning that she can't quite decipher.

"Chloe, stop. Don't apologize." She draws a deep, shuddering breath; it's uncharacteristically anxious of her, and it only serves to make Chloe feel worse about what she just said. Why can't she ever control her mouth?

"Beca – "

"Stop, Chloe; please. I know you must be feeling impatient, and probably a little confused about why I haven't done anything yet. That's my fault; I should be the one apologizing to you for that." She pauses for a moment, twisting her fingers together on the tabletop. Chloe wants to reach out and still them, soothe her angst, but she manages to resist. She wants to hear what Beca has to say.

"Go on." Beca looks up at her with pleading eyes. It's enough to settle Chloe and simultaneously rile her up, making her an uncomfortable combination of calm and fidgety.

"I've been unsure of how to handle this," she admits after a moment. "Part of the reason I haven't acted yet is because I really have been busy with work, and besides that, I needed to get everything prepared. That took a little time – as you can see, I've still been working on it today," she explains with a nod towards the mystery bag resting on the floor between their feet.

"Why do you not know how to handle it?" Chloe asks. "I thought you said you've been doing this for seven years; wouldn't you know how to do it all by now?" Beca hesitates; Chloe sees her gaze waver at the question, dancing back and forth between the tabletop and the floor as though uncertain where to settle.

She brings her eyes back up after a moment, eyebrows knit together with anxiety. When she speaks, it isn't what Chloe expects to hear.

"Will you go somewhere with me?"

Chloe is so surprised that she actually hesitates. When it looks as though she isn't going to respond, Beca toys with her fingers across the table, leaning forward to convey her urgency.

"Please?" And with that, Chloe's gone. A smile spreads across her face.

"Of course I will, Beca."

* * *

They're sitting on the hood of Beca's car like in John Hughes movie despite the freezing cold, parked up on an obscure overlook somewhere past the Bronx. It's got a classic view of the Manhattan skyline with a couple of miles of downtown lying between. They're completely alone, and if Chloe weren't absolutely positive that Beca isn't a mad-ax murderer, she might find reasonable cause for concern.

But she knows Beca, probably better than she should for only having met her a week ago, and right now, glancing at her surreptitiously whenever the opportunity presents itself, worry is the farthest thing from her mind. She's eager to hear what Beca has to say, though she recognizes that she was pushy earlier and doesn't want to make Beca uncomfortable. It's an old, familiar feeling, one that she recognizes from the years before she met Mark; an innate need to be persistent while simultaneously wanting to avoid causing real damage – a coexisting inclination to be punished and a need to avoid it, which is why, she figures, she's always been a sub.

Pushing down her growing curiosity, she waits patiently for Beca to speak.

"I've always been just a domme," is the way that Beca starts out, roughly half an hour after they've parked themselves somewhat comfortably on the hood of the car. She continues to stare straight ahead, but Chloe turns her whole body to face her attentively, eyeing her stoic expression inquisitively. After a moment, Beca turns her head slowly to stare impassively back. There's little expression in her gaze; nothing that Chloe can use to decipher what's running through her head.

"I've always had an established foundation of trust and respect with my subs," she continues slowly. "But I've always been _just_ a domme. I've never felt anything for them beyond the necessary trust and commitment." Chloe's starting to understand, at least a little bit, where this is going, and she can't help but be a little amused. They're similar in so many ways, yet at the same time, they couldn't be more opposite.

"But now?" she probes gently, and Beca turns back to stare off into the haze of buildings and trees and distant skyscrapers.

"We have a bond," she says simply, but her body language, the way her posture is tight and rigid, betrays the existence of something more. Chloe watches her, sees the tenseness of her shoulders and back, and decides not to push her too far. She can't decide what she can say that won't be taken as either persistent or dispassionate, so she settles for a simple agreement.

"We do." They sit in silence for another few minutes, watching a flock of small birds fly aggressively in pursuit of a hawk.

"I don't know how to treat you because of that," Beca says slowly. She doesn't tear her gaze from the sky. She might not have intended her words to sound like a worried admission, but they do, and it makes Chloe instinctively move. Before she can really register what she's doing, she's scooted across the hood of the car to where Beca is sitting, her posture still stiff and concerned. Impulsively, she wraps her arms around the tense brunette and pulls her close, nuzzling into the warm spot where Beca's neck meets her shoulder. It's not a comforting embrace in the sense that she's cradling Beca; not the way a concerned significant other would, bending her body around Beca to make her feel safe. Rather, she's giving reassurance in the opposite sense, by displaying her own vulnerability and dependency. Instinctively, in the same way that she knows to run when a threat makes itself known, she knows that what Beca needs is to be shown that she is a source of security. Beca needs to feel Chloe curl herself willing into her body in a movement that speaks of trust and familiarity.

Chloe doesn't know how she knows it, but she senses that it will comfort Beca to know that she is a source of comfort for _Chloe_. She knows she's right when the brunette first stiffens, but then relaxes almost immediately, bringing up an arm to snuggle Chloe in closer to her warmth.

Together, their instincts make a pretty good team.

"That's the easiest part," Chloe breathes after a while, in response to Beca's earlier concern. She can feel the domme twitch a little at the feeling of her warm breath on her neck, and she smiles to herself at the reaction. At Beca's skeptical noise, she hums out a sound of reassurance. "Oh, totes. See, you just treat me like a submissive when I am one; the same way you would treat anybody. When I'm just being Chloe is the harder part, but we can let that grow and shape itself in whatever way it needs to."

She can feel Beca's uncertainty through her body language, but she refuses to acknowledge it. She's not going to let Beca pull away from her because of this; the way she's always seen it, relationships are something that can be needlessly complicated by emotions when in reality everything is so _simple_. "Beca, if I weren't going to be your submissive, you'd still have to deal with this, or run away. It's that simple. And if you decide you don't want me in any other way but as your sub, that's fine too. It wouldn't hinder that part of our relationship."

"I wouldn't want that," Beca says softly. Chloe pulls back to examine her face, which, she's unsurprised to see, has transformed into a patchwork of apprehensive emotion. Her eyes are deep and dark again, filled with some indescribable feeling that Chloe can only interpret if she lets her heart look instead of her eyes.

"You wouldn't want what?" Her voice is just as soft, gentle, sensing Beca's need to be spoken to soothingly at the moment, when all of her emotions are visible in her face.

"You to just be my sub," the brunette admits quietly, and Chloe can feel the tension gathering again in her shoulders. "I – I don't know what I want yet. I still need to figure that part out. But I want more than that." She sounds incredibly anxious, almost bordering on afraid. Chloe takes her by the shoulders, firmly yet gently, and stares purposefully into her eyes.

"You don't need to have it all figured out yet, Beca," she says calmly. "And we don't have to go looking for a label. We can just let it be what it's going to be – and it doesn't even have to be anything for now. We can figure it all out as we go; but for now, I _am_ your sub. Which means that whatever else we're figuring out, I still belong to you."

Beca's breath hitches, and in less than a moment, Chloe finds herself on her back with Beca hovering over her, pressing warm, insistent kisses to her lips and cheeks and eyelids.

"You belong to me," is the echoed murmur, and Chloe feels her body warm all over. "You're mine, and I'm going to _treasure_ you." Chloe gasps as she feels warm lips close over her earlobe, and then teeth – dragging sensually across tender skin, nipping at the line of her jaw. She doesn't know how it's possible to feel this much heat; it's flowing through her body like a life source, tangling in her hands and chest and pooling low in her belly. It's fierce and urgent, and Chloe suddenly feels the need to be closer, as close as she can possibly be. She reaches up, pressing fervent fingers into Beca's scalp, curling one leg around the brunette's to keep her there, hot and close and intimate. Beca's frame is heavy on her body, but it's a pleasant weight; it makes her feel secure and grounded and _wanted_.

Beca's mouth closes over her pulse point and sucks there, _hard_ , and Chloe's letting loose with a guttural groan that she hadn't even known she was capable of making. It's still cold out, and she can feel the freezing air on her face, but her hands and legs and the rest of her body is warm with the weight of Beca's body and the heat of her reverent kisses. She's suddenly very aware of the hand that's splayed out on her side, cradling her ribcage, and the other that's tangled in her hair, Beca's arm wrapped around her to support her head as she leans up to meet her in a desperate, heated kiss. The brunette is so much smaller than she is, yet Chloe still feels enveloped by her, surrounded completely by her warmth.

After a long while, Beca pulls back to allow them both the opportunity to breathe. She tucks Chloe's face into her neck, automatically letting her searching out warmth. Her other arm slips around her back to cradle her close while she strokes red hair in a gentle, soothing gesture.

"You belong to me," Chloe hears her whisper again, and this time, the words are laced with a tone of wonder. She wants to pull away to look into her eyes, to search out hidden truths there, but Beca's arms around her are sure and warm, and she can't bring herself to break the embrace. "You belong to me, and I swear I'll do right by you." The words are murmured into her hair almost absently though with conviction, as though Beca is speaking more to herself than to Chloe.

They warm her all the same, and she can feel the reality of them sinking in the longer they lie there together. She's feeling heated, and needy, and desperate, and she's fairly certain that if Beca doesn't give in to her desires soon, they're both going to explode. Images swim behind her closed eyelids of gentle hands binding a collar around her throat, swollen lips pressing kisses to her jawline; casting away her every inhibition; surrendering the full force of her will to Beca's control. The thoughts flash up in her mind in rapid succession, and suddenly the slow-burning warmth she's been feeling building in her diaphragm has turned into a blazing heat so intense that she nearly gasps aloud. It's swift and powerful and overwhelming, and suddenly, she's _singing._

It's the oddest reaction she's ever had, but some distant part of her understands. Whenever she got overwhelmed when she was younger – or even so recently as when she was in college – singing had always been her outlet. It had been her way of expressing what she was too overwhelmed to say. It's nice to know that she hasn't lost that part of herself, but this is a little ridiculous. She's practically burning up inside, and instead of expressing it in a simple way, like _fuck me, Beca, please_ or _take me home already, God damn it_ , she's _singing_ , crooning the words into Beca's ear in a voice so low and husky she almost gives _herself_ the shivers.

It's sultry and absurd, a bit like something that would happen in a movie, but she can't stop herself.

 _"_ _I'm telling you to loosen up my buttons, babe, but you keep frontin'; say what you're gonna do to me, but I ain't seen nothing."_ She feels Beca freeze on top of her, pulling back to look her in the eye. She keeps singing even once they've made contact, her gaze burning into Beca's, and Beca's eyes smouldering back with the force of something that Chloe _knows_ has the capacity to utterly destroy her.

She keeps going, trailing a hand from Beca's jawline down her neck to swirl at her collarbone before sliding down her chest to her waist, where she curls it around a slender hipbone and gives a little tug.

 _"_ _Baby can't you see how these clothes are fitting on me, and the heat coming from this beat; I'm about to blow; I don't think you know."_ She keeps it slow and sensual, toying slowly with a strand of Beca's hair, tightening her leg around the brunette's. She stares suggestively up at her, purposefully letting her eyes display her need, and tilting her hips up ever-so-slightly into the lithe figure above her, she feels Beca's control snap.

The domme rolls off of her so quickly that Chloe's eyes can hardly register the movement, but just as rapidly she's standing beside the car, tugging Chloe off the hood as she fumbles to pull her phone out of her pocket and dial. She opens the door and practically shoves Chloe in before racing around the front, stopping only to check that the redhead is safely buckled in as she starts the car, speaking instantly when her friend picks up on the second ring.

"Stacie, do you have plans with Aubrey tonight?" Chloe struggles to collect herself while Beca talks, straightening out her clothing and attempting to arrange her hair into some semblance of neatness. There's no real reason to, seeing as they're the only people they're likely to see before clothes are rendered unnecessary. "Make some," is Beca's sharp retort to whatever Stacie has to say, and then she hangs up, backing onto the road and taking off at a speed that, while still legal, leaves Chloe with the distinct impression that desperation is most of the weight on the gas pedal.

After several minutes of what feels like carefully controlled silence, Beca speaks. She seems to have calmed considerably, but Chloe can almost feel the need simmering below the surface. Her tone is moderate, but her words are brief, and Chloe knows that she's struggling to keep control.

"When we get home, you're going to go get ready in your room," she says calmly, flicking the left turn signal. "You're going to take a shower and do whatever else you need to in order to prepare while I get everything else ready. Make sure that whatever you're wearing is comfortable. But before that, you're going to come to the kitchen, where we'll both eat something nutritious. You're going to need your strength for what we're going to do tonight." Chloe feels a pleasant shiver tingle through her at the brunette's words. Beca seems to sense it, and glances over at her while she switches lanes.

"Chloe, if you don't want to do this, right now is your chance to say so," she says after a moment of scrutiny. "We'll go home and do something else, and we won't bring it up again. But," she continues, her voice low and serious. "If you do decide to go through with this, I want you to know that I have no intention of stopping tonight, unless, of course, you need to use your safeword for any reason." Chloe is shaking her head before Beca has even finished speaking. Her hands are both occupied, gripping onto the door and the side of her seat so that they don't go somewhere they shouldn't be while Beca is driving.

"No," she says firmly, and Beca doesn't remove her gaze from the road, but she raises an eyebrow questioningly.

"No, what, Chloe?" she asks expectantly.

"No. No, I won't stop. I mean; I want to do this. Tonight." She's quite proud of the fact that her voice only holds the slightest tremble. With the fire that's raging in her body right now, she's honestly surprised that she can even speak at all.

"You're absolutely positive?" Beca probes, and Chloe knows that she's asking for a good reason, but she can't help snapping a little bit.

 _"_ _Yes,_ Beca, I'm _positive_ ," she hisses out, only to jolt back in surprise when a light smack is landed on the top of the hand that's nearest the center console.

"Watch your attitude," is all Beca says, but Chloe can hear the warning behind her words; the silent reminder that her persistence is for both of their sakes, and that she shouldn't be frustrated with something that is being done for her own wellbeing. It's also a slight reminder that from here on out tonight, Beca is in charge. Her domme persona is settling in, slipping over her like a mask that can't be removed till dawn.

It registers with Chloe that it _isn't_ , though; it's not a mask or a slipcover; it's an element of personality that will be woven in with the warmth and care and affection she's been receiving to create a steady, genuine new presence.

When that fact makes itself known, she feels instant remorse, and folds her hands into her lap demurely, murmuring out a respectful, "I apologize." Beca glances back over at her, a mixture of a frown and smirk taking over her features.

"That will do, Chloe," she says approvingly, before returning to her earlier businesslike manner. "Tonight, you may call me ma'am or mistress, or anything else you prefer, with the exception of Beca. If you say my name after we enter the playroom, you will be punished. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Beca." They're still in the car, which means that Chloe can still call her by her name, and while she is eager to begin, she wants to hold on to that ability for just a little longer. A knowing smirk is sent her way, and she blushes for what feels like the millionth time since they've met. Hopefully, with her submissive side taking over later, that won't be an issue.

"Very good. Next, you will keep your eyes lowered respectfully unless I give you permission to make eye contact with me; is that understood?"

"I understand."

"You will do what I ask of you without protest unless you need to use your safeword. If you resist me or talk back, I will punish you. I will not gag you, but if I ask you to stay quiet, I will expect you to control yourself. Failure to follow any of my commands will earn you a punishment; obeying them will earn you pleasure. Going above and beyond my expectations will earn you something special. If at any point you feel uncomfortable, you _must_ use your safeword. I will not have you feeling unsafe or like you cannot trust me. In accordance with that, if I ask you a question, you must answer me honestly. If we cannot communicate effectively, this relationship is pointless. It is _very_ important that you understand what I am saying to you right now. _Do you understand me_ , Chloe?" Beca's voice has turned abruptly sterner than before, more so by several levels. It's clear to Chloe that she is deadly serious, and because of that, the redhead takes a moment to deeply consider everything that has just been said. She needs to honor Beca's dedication to this by not being flippant and agreeing with everything simply because she's desperate to begin.

After a long moment of thinking, she nods slowly. "Yes, Beca; I understand." Beca glances at her several times whenever it's safe, clearly trying to assess her level of honesty. Her gaze is hard and stern, and Chloe would shrink a little under it if she thought that it stemmed from anything other than pure dedication.

"Repeat to me what you understand."

"I will answer you honestly and use my safeword if I need to."

"Very good." Beca offers her a slight smile. "Now, is there anything that you would like to say to me beforehand?" Chloe considers for a moment. She returns her hands to the sides of her seat and grips the leather hard to keep herself from reaching out and touching Beca – the urge is nearly overwhelming, especially with so much heat and so little space between them.

"Thank you for doing this for me," she says softly, and as they halt at a red light, Beca turns fully in her seat for a moment to brush a light fingertip down her temple. Chloe shivers beneath the touch, feeling tiny sparks of electricity tingle out from the point where skin meets skin.

"This is for both of us," Beca tells her lowly. Her eyes dart back and forth between Chloe's for a moment. "But for what it's worth, you're very welcome." Her voice is soft enough, gentle enough, for Chloe to know that it's genuine. Of course it's genuine – _Beca_ is genuine, more so than anyone else she has ever encountered.

Watching Beca as she drives, the firm grip of her hands on the wheel, and thinking of her concern, her attentiveness, and what she's coming to see as total, unmarred control, it hits Chloe that Beca is more than a _good_ domme. She's wonderful.

For Chloe, who hasn't experienced that before, but who has longed for it since the day she knew it was possible, it's a revelation that only inflates her need. She gasps out loud at the force of it, feeling the fire rush through her body. Beca shoots her a frown of concern.

"Chloe? What's the matter?" Her grip tightens on the edge of her seat, so hard that her knuckles turn white.

"Take me home, _please_ , Beca," is all she can manage to gasp out in her desperation, but from Beca's wide grin, and the way she shifts lanes to speed up as much as possible, Chloe knows that she's been heard.

It's definitely the shortest legal amount of time that anyone has ever taken to get from the Bronx all the way to Staten Island, but it still isn't fast enough. Chloe is nearly trembling with need by the time they reach the house; her hands shake as she struggles to unbuckle her seatbelt, and when she steps out of the car, her knees nearly give out. Beca takes enough pity on her to guide her into the house, but then she leaves her in the entryway, darting off to the back bedroom, presumably, to make last minute preparations. It is with great effort that Chloe manages to remember the instructions she has been given. She hurries into the kitchen and begins digging through the refrigerator, searching for a combination of healthy foods that will keep her energy level up for the next indefinite number of hours.

Beca returns fewer than ten minutes later, having arranged everything to her liking. It only takes her a moment of watching Chloe struggle to concoct a meal with trembling hands before she takes pity on her and steps up behind the redhead, hands closing over slender wrists.

"Slow down, honey," she breathes into warm skin. "You'd better let me handle the knife if you're going to be shaking that badly." A throaty whimper escapes Chloe at the feeling of Beca's lips so close to her ear, but she shakes it off, stepping back obediently and letting Beca finish preparing their food.

It doesn't take long to make; Beca may be good at appearing composed, but Chloe can see that behind her smooth movements and calm exterior, she's feeling just as antsy as Chloe is. The result is that within minutes, Chloe finds herself seated at the counter – only for the fact that Beca refuses to let her stand and eat – trying to consume her entire plate of food as rapidly as she can without choking. Surprisingly though, once she's gotten a bit of nourishment in her, her franticness abates a little bit. Her hands cease to tremble, and she can feel her heartbeat slow to a more regular pace.

She's needy and excited, but the near hysteria that's been consuming her for the past half hour has dissipated, leaving her body humming with quiet anticipation. She's not quite completely calm yet, though, and Beca seems to sense it, for she offers to clear their dishes while Chloe hurries off to her bedroom to get ready.

It's in the shower that she manages to calm herself the rest of the way. The cool water feels good on her heated skin, and she finds the sensation of droplets breaking on her shoulders to be infinitely soothing. She pauses for a few minutes once she's managed to rinse the shampoo from her hair, and leans contemplatively against the shower wall, soaking in the feeling and sound of the water falling.

It would be a lie to say that she isn't just the tiniest bit nervous. She knows that Beca will take care of her, but she doesn't really know what to expect from the brunette. It's been a long time since playing has made her feel good, and at first, she's the slightest bit worried that she's forgotten how to allow herself to feel pleasure.

But then the image comes to her of Beca, of her lips pressing fervently to her skin, of her hands all over her body, and she relaxes. Beca already makes her feel better than she thought it was possible to feel – she should have no fears that this experience won't be the same. If anything, it will be more so; Chloe has spent the past two years of her life as a submissive, but by the end, it hadn't been something that she had done for herself. It had been a duty, a chore, just as Mark's care of her had been to him, though even then it had been different; she had been obligated to remain what she was. It had been her place, her duty; it was almost as though it had been her lot in life.

Now, she's about to give herself up again, but this time, she's going to do it willingly. She's going to give everything to Beca; her trust, her control, her free will; she's about to completely hand over the reins to another human being, and for the first time since her initial weeks with Mark, she welcomes the promise of such a loss of control.

Her movements are steady as she blow-dries her hair, combing and teasing it into smooth, elegant curls. She debates her outfit choices carefully, not wishing to be upfront, but wanting to make herself pretty for Beca. She knows that they'll be off of her soon anyway, but she wants to give the impression of deliberateness; she wants Beca to know that she's considering this carefully. She wants be comfortable, but also a little enticing.

In the end, she goes for elegant; it's always been her default, and she's as comfortable in it as she is in her own skin. Sophistication has always been her forte.

She allows herself a little shudder when her thoughts swerve again to a naughtier level – the sophisticated one is about to act the complete opposite, and it makes her want to smirk even though Beca isn't there to see.

She ends up in a pair of skin-tight burgundy jeans and a dark navy fitted button down with three-quarter sleeves. Her hair she leaves down and flowing, and she refrains from going near her mascara. If this were a date night, she would spend some time fussing over makeup, but tonight, she knows better. She feels more comfortable without it, and she knows she doesn't need it.

Besides, something tells her that tonight is going to be intense, and if she's going to cry, she can't have mascara runs, now can she?

Once ready, she pauses for a moment before leaving the room. Beca hasn't come to ask when she'll be done, and she's grateful; she knows that the brunette is giving her one last chance for an out. If she decides right now that she doesn't want to bare herself the way that Beca will have her do tonight, she can put an end to it right now. They can curl up on the couch and watch a movie, to Beca's protests.

For a moment, considering the enormous vulnerability she is about to bare, she almost does it, but as she's debating, her eyes catch movement, and she looks up at her own reflection in the mirror above the dresser.

She takes in her own image with her brow furrowed in contemplation and curiosity. Her posture is straight, but not rigid – flexible, as though about to sink into a bow. Her eyes, even when examining herself, are downcast and demure. Looking at the way she holds herself, the manner in which she folds her hands together in front of her body, she can see her own submission practically waving back at her.

She looks, imagines her own body bowing in surrender at the feet of someone powerful and trustworthy, and she makes her decision.

She's always been told that she's got an open heart; that she is one of the rare people whose personality has an irresistible draw. She knows that she's friendly and open and empathetic, constantly feeling positive energy radiate from every corner of the universe, and she loves that about herself. But the reality of it is that sometimes she overwhelms _herself_ , and then she feels sympathy for those whom she knows she is too much for.

When her own personality gets to be too much for her to handle, she needs a way to let go. She needs an outlet that can subdue that vibrant force, tame it and own it, take control of it so that she can have a break from trying to rein it in.

If Beca can offer her respite from that at the same time that she feeds her instinctive submissive inclinations, then she has nothing else to consider.

She glances in the mirror one last time, checking that everything is in place, and then she steps from the room and pads quietly down the hall in her bare feet to the back bedroom.

Beca is waiting for her at the end of the hall, two small objects in her hands. Chloe's breath catches as she takes in the domme's attire – while somewhat traditional, it gives off a vibe that is purely Beca, and to be honest, it's a little intoxicating. She's dressed in ripped leather pants and a dark crimson leather vest, with her hair swept up into a tight ponytail. Her eyes are edged with just a touch of eyeliner, but it's enough to make her look simultaneously enticing and severe. She's also a little taller due to the slightly heeled boots she's wearing, but her presence is so powerful that Chloe thinks she could be barefoot and it would still feel like she's towering over her.

She smiles as Chloe draws near, and the expression is so open and genuine that Chloe cannot help but return it. She stops several feet away, uncertain of what will constitute as a polite distance, and she waits.

"I wondered if you would come." Beca's voice is warm and solid, pure heat running through her veins, and it makes something in Chloe twist pleasantly.

"I thought about not doing it," she admits. Beca's smile only grows.

"I'm glad you did," she says warmly, and any lingering tension Chloe is holding completely vanishes. She raises her eyes as Beca straightens up and steps forward, holding out one of the items for Chloe to inspect. "This is for you," she says. "It took me some time to find one that wasn't too thick. I hope it's to your licking." Chloe accepts the collar in her hands and brings it up close to her face, inspecting the soft leather that, oddly enough, matches the color of her shirt. It has a single O-ring in the front, presumably to hook a lead into, and on the back, a small silver plate. Her name is engraved into the metal in graceful, swooping letters, and the intimacy of the gesture makes Chloe choke up.

She looks up at Beca with eyelids fluttering to keep sentimental tears at bay.

"Thank you," she whispers, running her fingers over the leather reverently. "It's perfect, Beca." She doesn't dare to say anything more for fear of losing her voice entirely, but Beca hears the emotion in her words and responds in kind.

"You're welcome, Chloe," she says gently, allowing the emotional girl a moment to gather herself before proceeding. "It's traditional for you to put it on yourself," she tells her. "Only I can take it off, but it's a symbol of trust and willingness for you to have the choice of giving yourself to me." Chloe draws a shuddering breath, looking down at the leather in her hands. This is it: her last chance to back out.

She doesn't hesitate for a moment before reaching up and buckling the collar around her neck.

The moment it's on, she feels the weight of her submission return full-force for the first time in longer than she cares to remember, and a tiny smile twitches at the corners of her lips at the familiar feeling of combined trust and surrender and vulnerability. She sinks to her knees without a conscious though of doing so and folds her hands in her lap, bowing her head and lowering her eyes to the floor.

Beca hadn't said anything to her about being required to kneel, but the action is as automatic as the motion of bringing air into her lungs. The feeling of overwhelming safety and fragility takes over, leaving her desire a distant need, and she lets out a tiny sigh of contentment.

Beca sucks in a sharp breath above her, and suddenly the domme is crouching in front of her, tilting her chin upwards with a fingertip.

"Chloe? Are you all right?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Why did you just kneel?" Beca's voice is filled with curiosity, and it makes Chloe frown the slightest bit as she answers with complete honesty.

"I didn't even think about it, Mistress. I just did it," she responds, keeping her eyes lowered.

"Are you okay to continue?" Beca sounds more awed than concerned, but she's careful to phrase the question in a way that doesn't make Chloe doubt her own actions.

"Yes, Mistress." The brunette smiles finally, and stands back up.

"Good. Stand, please, Chloe," she summons. Chloe rises obediently to her feet, though she keeps her eyes down. Beca's hands come into her line of sight, holding out two wrist cuffs of a light pastel blue that Chloe instinctively knows matches her eyes. She can see that they're long, about two-and-a-half inches when they will extend from her wrist towards the middle of her forearm. "Hold out your hands." She obeys, and Beca wraps the leather tenderly around her wrists and snaps them into place. She trails her fingertips gently over the backs of Chloe's hands as she retreats, and then abruptly, she takes a step back.

"Look at me, Chloe." Chloe raises her eyes immediately to see Beca eyeing her with a now critical gaze. After a moment, it softens slightly as she murmurs, "You look lovely."

"Thank you, Mistress," Chloe responds automatically. "As do you." She hears Beca chuckle before a finger is hooked into the ring in her collar and she's being tugged forward the slightest bit, closer to Beca's face.

"Very good, my pet. Now, are you ready?" Chloe draws a steadying breath.

"Yes, Mistress."

"Very well," Beca responds, releasing her grip. "Come with me." And then Chloe's being led gently into the room, a hand at her back to guide her and simultaneously lay claim to her as Beca's. Once inside, Beca shuts the door, and her other hand falls to cradle Chloe's cheek. The redhead nuzzles instinctively into the touch, enjoying the warmth and sense of security it offers. Immediately after she moves, it occurs to her that perhaps she shouldn't act without her Mistress's permission, but to her surprise, Beca pulls her in close, nestling her against her body in a gesture of possessiveness. A loving kiss is pressed to the crown of her head.

"My darling," Beca murmurs. Chloe can feel the movement of her lips against her hair. "I thought we could start with something simple to ease you into this. Does that sound good?" Chloe nods against her chest, content where she is, yet eager to begin.

"Yes, Mistress." Her words are fairly a sigh for the contentment that they breathe out. She feels Beca smile into her hair, and then the domme steps back, releasing her from her grasp.

"First, I would like you to take a look around," she says. "You may take as long as you'd like to examine things and get yourself acquainted with the room. I want you to be comfortable here. If you have any questions about something, please ask me." Chloe instantly misses the coziness of Beca's embrace, but she recognizes the effort that the brunette is putting into their time together. She is being careful to allow Chloe the availability of relaxation, and to ensure that the redhead feels secure. It is an offer that she gladly accepts.

She lifts her gaze from the floor and takes in the visual of the room before she moves, getting a sense of the space. It's smaller than the other bedrooms in the house, though not by a significant amount, and an even square. The floor is paneled with a dark wood around the edges, but lined for the most part with a deep crimson carpet, and the walls are a matching dark shade, though navy blue in color. There are no windows, as, Chloe knows, it is sandwiched between a bathroom and another small living area. The choice of this room, she presumes, is for privacy's sake.

The lack of windows does not darken the room entirely, but it's slightly dimmer than the rest of the house, light by a subtle glow of ceiling lights softer than the bright white ones in the living room and kitchen, and even in their bedrooms. It gives off a softer, hazier light that Chloe finds soothing. She isn't sure that she can handle stark, naked lighting. The glow of this room puts her at ease, which, when she considers it, is probably its purpose.

At the opposite end of the room is situated a four-poster bed with an overhanging canopy. Its frame is visibly sturdy, and above the headboard, two large iron rings are screwed into the wall. On the right-hand wall is a Saint Andrew's cross, flanked by a bench and a straight-backed chair on one side and a cabinet on the other. In the far left corner sits a dark indigo couch. The left-hand wall is decorated similarly to the right, lined with a large wardrobe – complete with drawers and closets – a bench slightly larger than the one opposite it, and another pair of rings. Between the closet and the bench is a door, which stands open to what Chloe can only presume is a bathroom.

Slowly, she takes a step forward.

"Go ahead, pet," is Beca's quiet encouragement. "You may look at anything you wish." And Chloe does.

She examines the room from top to bottom, running her fingers over the various bits of furniture in order to get a feel for the space. The bed is found to be exceedingly comfortable; more so, even, than Beca's. It's covered with a heavy down comforter; the sheets are crisp and scented vaguely with something that Chloe can only describe as the fresh smell that comes after rain. The Saint Andrew's cross is sturdy, so stable that Chloe knows it could safely hold someone roughly three times her weight.

She also discovers in her inspection that the cabinet on the right contains floggers, cuffs, and other instruments of the sort, but that the cupboard on the other side of the room is filled with fluffy towels; clean, soft pajamas; a hot water bottle; blankets; a thick robe – a shelf lined with bandages, Advil, and antiseptics. It even holds a small refrigerator stocked with fruit and bottled water.

She turns to Beca in confusion, though she keeps her eyes carefully down.

"Mistress?" Beca offers her a warm smile and steps forward, indicating the items in question.

"This is yours, sweetheart," is the explanation granted to her. "Keeping you healthy is of the utmost importance. It is reasonable to expect that we will get caught up in what we are doing, but that is no excuse to allow you to become hungry or dehydrated, and while you may desire pain, Chloe, being hurt and being injured are two very different things. You will be taken care of here; you will not be neglected, because the last thing I intend to do is cause my submissive harm."

It's all said steadily, so seriously that Chloe can actually feel the weight of her words in the air. She swallows to steady herself, feeling warmth build in her chest at the recognition of how beautifully she is going to be treated. Beca has known her for a mere week, and she's already more attentive and giving than Mark ever, _ever_ was – she's never even been able to take such good care of _herself_ before. It's a lot to take in, and looking around with no stable anchor, Chloe suddenly feels exceedingly lost.

Beca seems to sense how overwhelmed she's feeling; hastily, she crosses the small space to enfold Chloe once again in her arms, pressing one hand to the small of her back and curling the fingers of the other around the edges of her collar.

"Chloe, look at me," is the gentle command, and Chloe is overwhelmed enough that it takes a moment of consideration to obey. When she doesn't respond immediately, a finger taps insistently at the base of her spine. " _Look_ at me, pet," Beca repeats, a little more forcefully, and Chloe hesitantly meets her gaze. A smile spreads across Beca's lips; the hand at Chloe's back tightens. "Such gorgeous eyes." Chloe doesn't quite blush at the reverent murmur, but it's a close thing. She tries to duck her head bashfully, but the fingers on her collar prevent the movement.

"I don't know the full extent of how you were treated before I found you," Beca says finally, after a few moments of silence. "But it's clear to me that you were not given the love and care that you deserve. You survived that all right, but you are _my_ submissive now, and I consider that to be the greatest honor I could possibly receive. I will treat you accordingly. Being a submissive means that you have equal parts thick skin and extreme vulnerability. It is my responsibility as your domme to attend to those needs, and I'd like you to get used to that fact, and not feel like you need to atone for something in order to thank me. I do not require a thank you; it is my duty and pleasure to take care of you, Chloe, and I hope that you will be able to come to see that."

Chloe is speechless. The truth of Beca's words resonates deeply with her. It's not that she's been treated horribly before; abuse is not a word that suits her previous experiences – a little neglect, perhaps, but not cruelty. Mark had simply never been overly concerned with her; he had never _harmed_ her, or forced her to do something that she had refused to do. In fact, looking back, most of her discomfort had been _her_ fault; she had never told him when she was too uncomfortable or unwilling to do something. It could have been argued that he had made her feel as though he would be disappointed if she had conveyed her unwillingness, but the lack of communication was for the most part her own fault. But he had never been this attentive. He had never treated her like something precious.

Beca is treating Chloe like she's something precious. When she considers the brunette's words, it starts to make sense – this _is_ what being a submissive means. She has thick skin; she can willingly bear high levels of pain, and humiliation is more than a bit of a thing with her, but with that comes a certain fragility of the heart that, in her case, has never been attended to. She's trusting and emotional and a little volatile by nature, and the balance of affection and control that Beca is offering her is exactly what she needs to manage that.

She wonders how Beca can know her so well after such a short amount of time. It's like they've known each other for months – years, even. Like they've spent a large portion of their lives getting acquainted with each other's quirks and needs, getting a sense for the balance between them. Their responses to each other are instinctive, as ingrained in their reactions as any natural fight-or-flight response, and Chloe doesn't know how it's all come about so quickly. She's so at ease with Beca that it's almost a little ludicrous, and she has the strangest feeling that if she were to press her fingers to both of their pulse points right now, she would find the beats to be synchronized.

She stays completely still, absorbing it all and relishing the feel of Beca's fingers on her collar, owning her, reassuring her, until Beca gives the leather a slight tug and pulls her in the direction of the open bathroom door.

"You're not done looking," is the only explanation she provides as she leads Chloe through the doorway, and Chloe halts in astonishment. The bathroom is huge, nearly larger than the playroom itself; it holds both a shower with glass doors and a massive, Jacuzzi-esque granite bathtub. To one side is a wide, padded bench with a nearby cabinet holding bottles of lotion and shampoo. Heated racks hold towels in almost every corner, and the full-length mirror that takes up an entire wall is edged with tiny, softly glowing lights.

Beca allows her several minutes to take in the scene before she brushes a thumb tenderly down the back of Chloe's neck.

"If you've seen everything you'd like to, pet, then perhaps you would like to begin," she suggests quietly. Chloe's body immediately snaps back into submissive mode; she turns her full attention to Beca and nods.

"Yes, Mistress. Thank you for letting me look around." With her eyes cast downward, she cannot see Beca's smile, but she can feel it, and it warms her all through to know that her Mistress is pleased.

"You're very welcome, pet. Now, come with me, please," she summons. Obediently, Chloe follows her back into the room, keeping her hands clasped in front of her in a gesture of respect. Beca shuts the door to the bathroom behind them and fiddles with a light switch for a moment, causing the general glow of the room to dim somewhat. When she returns to Chloe's side, the ginger is kneeling, her fingers knotted together in her lap.

"Stand, Chloe." Chloe rises, and Beca hooks one finger through the O-ring in her collar. "Strip."

There it is. She had been wondering how long she would be permitted to remain clothed for. Her desire is still simmering beneath the surface, but it's rapidly growing stronger, so she moves as quickly as she can. Her motions are a little jerky as she fumbles with the buttons on her blouse, so Beca swiftly takes over, smacking her hands away and working quickly to remove the garment. She is able to handle the zipper on her jeans and kicks them off, feeling the desperation build. Her undergarments swiftly follow, and then she's standing completely exposed in front of Beca's probing gaze.

Despite the fact that she's helpless and bare naked with no means of covering herself, Beca's eyes on her don't feel invasive. Maybe it's because this is a little what she looked like when they first met, or maybe her submissive side is settling in faster than she anticipated, because she feels no shame. It's a little funny, because normally a few words from Beca are all she needs to turn bright red in embarrassment, but it's almost as though this moment is beyond all possibility of shame. She's about to bare herself in a way that most people can't face, and not only is the action willing, it's for her own enjoyment, and when she considers it, she supposes that that has something to do with it.

Besides, she knows that she's uncommonly attractive; she's always been confident in the way that she presents herself – or at least, she was before Mark got ahold of her. Now she has the opportunity to experience that kind of confidence again, and she's eager to see if it still feels the way she remembers it.

When Beca trails a single fingertip down her side, stopping to rest with her whole hand curled around Chloe's left hip, she knows that it does.

For the first time, Beca allows her hands to travel all over the redhead's body; permits her eyes to take in the lean, curvaceous form without guilt or subtlety. Chloe is gorgeous in every imaginable way; her curves are soft and womanly, her muscles tight and toned; her skin is smooth as silk and patterned lightly here and there with tiny dustings of freckles. Her lean neck dips into a delicate collarbone, over full breasts and across the tight planes of her abdomen, down endless, graceful legs.

Beca wants to touch, and she _can_ , because Chloe is giving herself to her; the beauty and elegance in front of her is for her to do with as she pleases, and despite having done this for seven years, that flatters her to no end. She brings her other hand up so that she is cradling Chloe's hips and holds her there for a moment, and then smooths her touch up the slender body to cup firm breasts. Her thumb brushes lightly over a tightened nipple, and she doesn't miss the sharp intake of breath that Chloe draws at her touch. She bites her lip and cradles Chloe's face in one hand. The redhead leans into her touch with a soft exhalation, her eyes closed blissfully, and Beca can't help the low murmur that escapes her lips.

"Such a pretty girl," she breathes. They're so close together that her words sift into Chloe's hair and vanish as quickly as they're spoken. "You're flawless, darling." Chloe shivers at her proximity. She lets out a sharp gasp of surprise when Beca suddenly twists her nipple, hard, and Beca chuckles. "Did that feel good, love?" Chloe nods quickly. She can't believe the bolt of pleasure that shot through her at such a simple touch. "Do you want me to take you?" Beca practically purrs into her ear. Chloe's breath catches as the brunette continues. "I could, you know; so easily. Give me ten seconds, and I could make you come so hard you'd be writhing on the floor. You wouldn't be able to walk for _days_ . . . but where's the fun in that?" she steps away suddenly, and Chloe can't stifle the desperate groan that escapes her at the loss of contact. "I'd rather make you wait. The longer I take to build you up, the better it will be. It's no fun if you get right to the point, so I'm going to take my time, love; I'd like to make you _beg_. But first . . . I'd like to get you a little worked up."

With that, being careful not to yank too hard, she curls her fingers tighter around the collar and drags Chloe to the rings on the opposite wall. Chloe barely has time to register that she's being moved before her back is pressed against the wall, pinned there by Beca, who has one thigh between her legs and an arm across her chest to hold her in place. In one swift motion, she has raised the redhead's arms above her head and hooked each wrist cuff separately to a ring with a small chain. "Move your arms," she orders, stepping back. Chloe compliantly swings her arms outwards as far as she can, and finds that she has a decent range of motion. "Can you pull free?"

No, is the answer. She can move enough so that she knows her arms won't begin to ache beneath the strain of being held up, but she cannot escape. The cuffs on her wrists are tight, but not tight enough to hurt – Beca is clearly familiar with the workings of restraints.

"No, Mistress," she answers after studying her predicament.

"Good. Close your eyes." Chloe's first instinct is to protest, because she's going to feel a little more helpless if she can't see, and to be honest, Beca's gorgeous, and she wants to be able to see her, but it's quickly made a moot point when she feels a band of silky fabric cover her eyes and get tied securely behind her head. "Can you see?"

"No, ma'am."

"Wonderful. Now stay right there, and don't move. If I see so much as a twitch, you'll be very, very sorry." Chloe wants to respond with something sassy; it's not like she can actually go anywhere, after all, but she can almost feel Beca's stern gaze on her, and she bites her tongue for a moment until she feels capable of responding without a quip.

"Yes, ma'am." There's a shuffling noise, and she can hear Beca cross the room and rummage around in one of the cabinets. Her lack of sight has brought her other senses into sharper focus, which has the upside of letting her know where Beca is at all times, but the downside of being able to feel her desire even more intensely than before. As the recognition of her situation sinks deeper into her mind, the sensation only grows, and it isn't long before she can feel the wetness between her legs. The urge rises desperately in her to reach down and touch, and she tries to hold back, she really does – she knows that Beca isn't kidding when she says that she'll regret any movement, but at the moment she's aching; the urge is becoming unbearable, and she can hear that Beca is facing the other way . . .

Beca must have a sixth sense, because when Chloe moves her leg just a fraction of an inch to press her thighs together, the domme is immediately in front of her, and a smack is being landed on her cheek at the same time that her nipple is given a rough pinch. Chloe yelps and jerks away in surprise, which earns her another blow, this time to her other cheek, and the part of her that isn't shocked, pained, and more than a little aroused notes that neither slap was hard enough to leave a mark, and that Beca deliberately hit both cheeks so that the pain would be evened out.

Her skin is stinging, but she appreciates the thought.

Beca is speaking to her at the same time that her legs are being pushed apart and padded cuffs wrapped around her ankles.

"What did I tell you?" she demands as she clicks something into place that Chloe presumes to be a spreader bar. She's curious, but she doesn't dare to test it lest she get into more trouble than she's already in.

When she doesn't answer right away, it earns her another slap – this one to her nipple – and she feels the flesh tingle painfully in a way that only ramps her desire up a notch.

 _"_ _What_ did I tell you, Chloe?" Beca asks again, and Chloe gasps out an answer, feeling the heat spread all throughout her body.

"To – to not move, ma'am, or I'd – I'd be sorry," she pants, and she feels hands roughly seize her hips.

"And what did you do, pet, after I clearly told you not to?" Fingers are dancing up the skin of her ribcage, and Chloe trembles a little at the sensation.

"I – I moved, ma'am," she manages to say, and then all coherent thought is gone, because Beca's hand is on her, spreading her open.

"Don't lock your knees," Beca tells her, and moves back, before pausing for the briefest of moments to give another instruction. "Count."

"Wha – " Chloe's question is cut off at the feeling of a sharp smack landing right on her most sensitive spot. Her clit throbs.

 _Oh_.

She almost passes out when Beca takes her clit between her thumb and forefinger and squeezes. Hard.

 _"_ _Fuck!"_

 _"_ _Count,_ Chloe, or I won't let you come at all." And fuck if that doesn't knock some sense into her. She's still trembling, and she feels a little bit like she's about to explode, but she manages to count, _one, two, three,_ all the way up to ten, and then it's over. She doesn't even realize that Beca is holding her up until she's released, and she sags in her restraints, body taut and quivering. It feels like all of her muscles are strung as tightly as they can go. She's fairly throbbing with need; she can feel her pulse between her legs, and there's definite wetness beginning to coat the insides of her thighs.

She ought to be embarrassed, but honestly, strung up against the wall with a collar and a blindfold, entirely naked, having just been given ten hard smacks to the clit, she really doesn't give a single fuck.

"Are you ready to behave?" Beca's voice is patient and expectant, like her hands aren't coated in Chloe's arousal. The redhead nods immediately, already feeling the remorse creeping up on her, as well as a terrible sneaking suspicion that given the chance, she would absolutely repeat her actions if they were to warrant the same response that they just received.

"Yes, ma'am; I'm sorry," she whispers, and she almost hears Beca smile.

"Good," is the only response she receives before there's a click and a quiet humming noise, and suddenly her body jolts with pleasure as her domme begins to trace her nipples slowly with the tiny vibrating bullet. She has to bite her lip to keep from crying out at the sensation, but a low groan falls from her lips regardless, and she hears Beca chuckle.

She wants to come, and she wants it now, but Beca must know that, because she takes her time, dragging the object all across her body and at the same time teasing her with soft touches that land everywhere except for exactly where Chloe needs them to. It's frustrating and almost a little painful with the way it flares up her arousal, but in all truth, she's enjoying it, too. Beca is touching her everywhere that seems odd, like it shouldn't elicit such a reaction – her inner elbows; the soft spot where her neck meets her shoulders; between her ribs – but the sensation is wild and euphoric and it causes her whole body to feel like it's tingling with some strange sort of fire. It's playful and infuriating and pleasurable, and once she gets past the frustration, she finds herself able to actually enjoy it.

It ends up going beyond that, because after several rounds of Beca coming so close to touching her exactly where she wants it, only to pull away at the last second and return to somewhere obsolete, like the backs of her hands, she learns to accept it. She's aggravated and desperate and needy beyond belief, but she's also relishing in her Mistress's touch, and whether she likes it or not, Beca has complete control over her (she definitely likes it). Her arms are pinned, her legs are bound, and she can't even see to give her domme a pleading look; she is entirely at Beca's mercy. The brunette could drag this on all night if she wanted to, and Chloe would be powerless to do anything but endure the sweet torture of it. She's helpless, and it's in the very best of ways.

Something about that fact soothes her, though her body is fairly screaming from overstimulation. As long as she's powerless, she might as well enjoy it for all it's worth. Slowly, she begins to relax, accepting her inability to take assume control, and devotes her attention to absorbing the sensations taking over her body.

As though she knows exactly what's gone through the ginger's head, Beca waits until she's almost entirely relaxed, and then she gives Chloe what she needs.

Chloe lets out a sharp cry when her Mistress brings the vibrator down to her clit and holds it there, pressed against the little bundle with the lightest pressure. She cries out again when Beca somehow maneuvers so that she can bite down on her nipple and pinch and tug repeatedly at the other one until Chloe is practically keening. After a moment, she feels pressure, and once it registers with her what's going on, she tries to relax and focus to allow the dildo to slip inside of her.

By the time it has been nestled firmly deep within her, she is gasping; she can feel herself being stretched in the most pleasant of ways. She's never been penetrated this deeply before, and it feels strange, but also wonderful, and when Beca begins to rock the toy ever so slightly, she clenches tightly around it, trying to draw it in further. The domme acquiesces, pushing it in deeper and deeper, until Chloe's gasps have become so shrill and high pitched that they might as well be screams.

And then she stops, right when Chloe is at the edge, and a needy whimper escapes the redhead when she realizes that she's not going to get to come. Not yet.

"Mistress, wha – "

"That happened a little fast, didn't it, Chloe?" Beca cuts in, and Chloe automatically feels shame creep up her neck at the tone. "It seems like you were a little too willing to take what you needed, don't you think? Maybe you forgot that I'm in charge of your pleasure here. Do you need a reminder of that, my pet?" Chloe tries to shake her head, but she knows what the answer is going to be before Beca even says it. "I think you do," the domme says decidedly, and then Chloe's arms are suddenly free; her ankles are released, and she's being tugged down and made to kneel in the center of the room. Beca re-cuffs her wrists behind her back, and then buckles her ankle cuffs together so that she's forced to sit back on her heels or fall over. Even so, her legs are spread, exposing her, and she quickly finds out why when Beca leans over her and flicks a switch that causes the dildo in her to begin vibrating.

Instantly, she clenches hard around it, letting out a low groan. Beca's fingertips dig into her shoulders, and she struggles to drag her mind out of her desire so that she can hear what her Mistress is saying.

"This is on the lowest possible setting," Beca informs her. Chloe can feel her presence directly in front of her, radiating warmth. "You are going to use your mouth on me, and every time you pause or make a sound, I will turn it up a notch. It has five settings, so you have four chances before it hits the highest setting. You will not speak, and you will not come until I say so, or you will be punished. Do you understand me?" Chloe speaks before she can catch herself.

"Yes, ma – _fuck!"_ her words are cut off with a cry, because Beca has clicked a button, obviously on some remote that she holds in her hand, and the vibrating increases in power. It takes her a moment to push down her desire and gather her composure. The desire to squirm and take her pleasure herself is nearly overwhelming, but she resists; it's how she ended up in this position, after all.

"That's one out of four, Chloe," Beca says sternly, and Chloe can hear her displeasure. "I thought I made myself clear when I said you were not to speak. Did you disobey me on purpose?" Mindful this time not to answer aloud, Chloe quickly shakes her head. "Do you want to be punished?" Beca prompts. Chloe shakes her head again. "I'm not so sure about that." She moves closer, and suddenly strong fingers are tangled in her hair, and she's enveloped in Beca's heady scent, stronger than it's ever been.

"Now. You will not speak, and you will not stop, and you will not come unless I give you permission. Have I made myself clear?" When Chloe nods, Beca affirms the gesture with a scrape of her nails against the submissive's scalp. "Good. Then you may begin." And then Chloe surges forward. Beca must have stripped down when she was over at the cupboard, because when she makes contact, it's with bare, heated flesh. She's eager to taste, to drink in her Mistress's desire, and more than that, she wants to make her feel good. She feels the urge to satisfy her Mistress stronger than everything, even her own need. Beca has been so good to her, so caring and attentive, and it's only fair that she is rewarded. Besides, Chloe is an inherently giving person, and to make Beca feel good will bring her nearly as much pleasure as when she is finally permitted to come.

She licks strongly through soaked folds, and Beca's grip on her hair immediately tightens. It only takes her a moment to locate the domme's clit with her blindfold still on, and almost immediately, she closes soft lips around it and sucks lightly. She feels rather than hears the low whimper that Beca emits at the sensation, and she grins slightly at the reaction.

That turns out to be a mistake as Beca fumbles with the remote, kicking the strength of the vibrations in Chloe's core up a notch. Chloe struggles not to gasp, realizing her error, and delves back into her task with enthusiasm, determined not to pause again. She only has two chances left, and she's already not certain that she can hold out for as long as she needs to in order to make Beca come. Her arousal is building fast, causing her muscles to tighten around the vibrator, which only serves to enhance the feeling. Her instincts seem to be against her, and she's forced to wage a constant battle between her mind and her body as she continues to pleasure her Mistress.

Beca is soaking wet, practically dripping with need, and it makes it easy for Chloe to dip her tongue ever so slightly into her entrance. Instantly, the domme's hands tighten in her hand, and her head is being pressed forward, deeper into her arousal. Knowing what is being asked of her, she immediately acquiesces, slipping her tongue in as far as she can reach and curling it within Beca's heat. The brunette's walls tighten, and Chloe _knows_ she's close, despite the fact that she's only been at this for a less than a minute. She hums out something obscure on instinct, pressing closer to nuzzle Beca's clit.

A loud gasp sounds above her, and Beca shakes. _"Fuck,_ Chloe, just like that," she pants, and Chloe can't hold back another grin. The response is immediate as the vibrating increases, and she's forced to pull back for the tiniest fraction of a second to catch her breath. Beca growls at the loss of contact, gripping her hair to pull her back in. Chloe wants to make her feel good, she really does, but right now she's almost crying with desperation. She's forced to lean forward to reach, and the position causes the dildo to shift within her, suddenly pressing against her most sensitive spot. She breaks away again to pant out a moan, and mercilessly, Beca responds by clicking the vibrator up to the highest setting. Chloe almost screams, and to stifle it, she presses forward and leans up, taking Beca's clit in her mouth again. This time, with her lips wrapped around the swollen bundle, she grazes her teeth against it lightly and flicks out her tongue, once, twice, and then Beca's coming hard, her fingers snaked tightly through auburn locks, so tightly that it hurts, but it feels good, and Chloe's not complaining. She feels like she's about to cry with franticness, and the ache between her legs is so intense that it threatens to make her pass out.

Beca trembles above her, barely managing to hold herself up on weak knees, and when her shaking eases slightly, Chloe bites down again softly to throw her over the edge again, needing something to occupy her mouth when her need is threatening to erupt from her in a scream. Beca cries out as she falls apart again, her hands tug hard in Chloe's hair, and the tingling combination of pain and pleasure is all the redhead needs to go tumbling over the edge.

She falls forward with a low half moan, half scream of pleasure as her orgasm rushes through her, momentarily consuming her from head to toe in a bright shock of lightning in her veins that actually makes her body spasm. It goes on for longer than she expects, temporarily blocking out all senses and conscious thought. When the rushing in her blood calms, dulling and spreading out into steady warmth that heats her from every little facet of her body, she presses her forehead against Beca's thigh and lets out a soft sigh of relief.

It doesn't last, because just as she returns to her senses, Beca regains hers, and the grasp on her hair yanks her upwards so suddenly that her blood pressure, already strained from her recent orgasm, doesn't have time to catch up. Flashing lights break out behind her eyelids, and she stumbles, ankles bound and head consumed by a rush that threatens to render her unconscious.

Beca steadies her with a hand on each of her hips, but once Chloe has regained her footing and can stand somewhat steadily on her own, the domme's irritation becomes clear.

"What did I tell you about when you get to come?" she demands sharply, with a pull to Chloe's hair. "You may speak now."

Chloe gasps out, "That I couldn't until you said so," because it's all she can remember right now with the vibrator still on and her head seemingly in a million different places at once. Apparently it's the correct response, because Beca responds with another sharp tug to a curl and a hum of assent.

"And what did you do, Chloe?" she wants to know.

"I – I disobeyed you, Mistress," Chloe chokes out.

"How?"

"You said I couldn't come until you said so, and I did anyway."

"And do you deserve to be punished for that?" Beca demands. Chloe still can't see her, but she can tell that their lips are inches apart from the way she can practically feel the brunette's words on her own mouth.

"No – no, Mis . . ." she falters when Beca reaches down and pinches her clit firmly, rolling it between her fingers.

"Tell me the truth, pet; you have been a bad girl. _Do you deserve to be punished?_ " the domme demands again, with an even harder squeeze. Chloe's knees weaken, and her words come out as a cry.

"Y – yes, Mistress!" Beca presses down again, causing stars to burst behind Chloe's fluttering eyelids.

"Yes, what, Chloe?"

"I deserve to be punished! I disobeyed you, and I deserve to be punished however you see fit, Mistress!" she cries, when Beca's fingers show no sign of relenting. "Please – _oh!_ – please teach me that I – I was bad; remind me that I'm yours to punish as you please!" She's desperate again; Beca's touch has built her right back up to the point she was at when she was forced to kneel, but she knows that she won't get to come again until she's been punished and Beca determines she has earned her pleasure. It's a little pathetic how willing she is to beg and plead and cry in order to be given release, but neither of them are embarrassed by it; this is what she agreed to, after all, and she has no trouble admitting that it's in her nature.

"How much should I punish you, Chloe?" Beca asks, and Chloe responds instinctively again, the words flowing from her lips without thought.

"Until you decide I've learned my lesson, Mistress," she pants out, trying desperately to keep ahold of her mind and keep a handle on her desire as Beca draws tight circles around her clit. She can almost feel Beca's satisfied smile, and she can hear the smirk in her voice as she responds.

"Very good, pet." And suddenly, her wrists and ankles are unclipped from each other, and she's being dragged across the room to what's presumably one of the benches. Beca bends her over it without further ado, clipping both her wrists and ankles to its sides, leaving her backside entirely exposed. She's positioned in such a way that her center has no contact with the vinyl, though the dildo is still buried deep, and she's stuck whimpering, desperate for more contact.

She gets the contact when the flogger falls sharply on her ass.

Immediately, she arches up – as much as she can in the position she's in – letting out a hiss of pain at the feeling of the lash trailing over her sensitive skin. Beca chuckles behind her, and another blow lands hard. Chloe grits her teeth, forcing herself not to cry out at the pain. Only two lashes have been dealt, and already she can feel her ass burning bright red. It hurts; it stings and it burns and it _aches_ , but it also feels good, and she can't help the feeling of pleasure that shoots through her at the recognition of her own vulnerability. She's bent over a bench, tied down and once again completely at Beca's mercy. She's going to hurt until Beca decides to stop, and the realization of that level of control hits her hard.

Beca is going to give her whatever she deems necessary, whether it be pain or pleasure, and Chloe is completely dependent on her to receive either. She has no need to concern herself with her own wellbeing; Beca will tend to her. Everything she is experiencing has been taken out of her hands. Beca has taken control of her and promised to give her what she needs in return; to take care of her and provide her with love and pleasure and the pain that she so desperately craves.

Chloe is _hers_.

 _This_ is what she signed up for two and a half years ago when she agreed to be Mark's submissive; _this_ is what she has been craving and has so far been deprived of. It has always been in her nature to give, to be open and free, and this is the purest, most primal form of that openness. To put her faith completely in the hands of someone else and to trust their judgment and their level of devotion to her is the rawest form of giving up control that she can even conceive of. She is going to be bent over this bench, receiving hard, burning lashes to her ass until Beca decides that she's had enough.

And she does; Chloe's lost count of the hits that she's taken since she was pinned down. She has no concept of how long she's been like this; only that it could have been minutes, or hours for all she knows. Time has slowed in the oddest of ways, seeming to move in slow motion, and the sensation of the lashes being dealt hasn't faded, but it's blocked out everything else until the feeling is all she knows. She has no concept of anything besides this; she can't fathom a beginning or an end to this overwhelming sensation. There is only this; there is only Beca, owning her, controlling her; giving her the punishment she needs; it's all that will ever exist. Her skin is on fire and her center is throbbing and her thighs are soaked in her own desire; she's trembling and incoherent and she hardly even registers her own voice begging for release.

Being owned by Beca is all she knows, and so far as her narrowed mind can comprehend, it's all she needs. This feeling of overpowering ownership and submission, of being entirely beneath someone else's control, has her firmly convinced that she can want for nothing else. Right now, she is being owned. Her mind has narrowed to make her understand that her existence is a present condition; she can say nothing of a minute from now, or tomorrow, or a month ahead; she can't conceive of a moment that isn't now. Stripped of any future or past or any inhibitions, she exists right now, in this moment, and in this moment, her needs are being taken care of, and that is all she needs – _Beca_ is all she needs.

It's a recognition that overwhelms her, despite how deep and unreachable her mind is, and she's speaking before she can stop herself, one cheek pressed sideways into the cool vinyl, an innumerable hit landing on the flesh of her ass as she speaks.

"Thank you." She doesn't intend for her words to make Beca stop, but they do; the domme immediately ceases raining blows upon her reddened skin and moves to kneel beside her head. A hand strokes her hair, and slowly, Chloe turns her head in the direction of her Mistress's voice. Her mind is still floating somewhere above her body, but it's drifting a little closer, close enough that she knows she can reach it if she stretches.

"What do you mean, pet?"

"Thank you for taking care of me," Chloe says simply. For her, it's simple; Beca owns her. It's all she knows. She hears an intake of breath, and then her blindfold is removed, and she's looking up into her Mistress's stormy eyes.

"Chloe?" Beca breathes, and if Chloe didn't know better she would say that the brunette sounds afraid. The tone serves to bring her back a little, and she blinks. Her mind clears a little further, far enough for her to be able to speak to her Mistress with conviction.

"I'm yours, Mistress; I belong to you, and I'm happy that I do. You make me feel special; wanted. Thank you for making me yours." She's a little confused at the sight of tears gathering in the corner's of dark eyes, but then her Mistress is releasing her from her bonds and pulling her to her feet, leading her back over to the wall and re-cuffing her wrists to the rings. One warm hand is splayed out across Chloe's lower abdomen, pressing inward slightly, and then there's a tug and the dildo is removed from between her legs. Chloe protests its absence with a groan, not only for the loss of contact, but for the rush of feeling her mind return that comes with it, but the sound is cut off with a gasp that blends into a choked, throaty whimper, and her eyes snap up to meet Beca's at the feeling of the domme's long, slender fingers sliding gently into her heat. Their gazes lock hard, and they stare back at each other for a long moment, hardly breathing.

Then Beca moves her fingers, and it's the most intimate thing either of them have ever experienced.

Beca has touched her submissives before, always with the intention of strengthening a bond, but she's never done this. She's never looked into someone's eyes as she brings them pleasure, watching the bliss play out beautifully across their face. She's never witnessed the emotions that flicker through their awed eyes as she brings them ecstasy beyond anything they've ever known.

She'd been expecting a reaction of some sort when she took her, but she'd never anticipated watching Chloe's eyes fill with unmistakable joy when she first touched her so intimately. She curls her fingers deeply and finds that magical little spot, and she plays with it, pressing down hard and dragging her fingertips slowly across the sensitive flesh. Chloe's jaw drops; her features contort in rapture, and she draws a harsh, ragged breath that sounds like she's struggling with the effort to breathe. Awed by the reaction, Beca repeats the motion, this time with the added pressure of her thumb again the swollen little bundle of nerves, and Chloe chokes out a needy moan.

She only needs to do it one more time, this time with the addition of a third finger, before Chloe is right on the edge, whimpering, her chest heaving, struggling to hold on. Beca's other hand is up at her ribs, cradling her for support. She can feel Chloe's rapid heartbeat beneath the warm press of her palm. The feeling of it does something to her – something about the knowledge of her capability, the extent of her control, makes her warm inside. She has complete and total command over the body in her hands; it's up to her whether Chloe gets the release she deserves or not. If she decides that it's not quite time yet, she could stop, and Chloe would have to wait even longer for the relief she's been craving.

But Chloe's waited long enough; she's waited years for someone who cares for her, days after days for Beca to agree to give her what she needs; hours for _this_ , this release of control, this pleasure beyond anything she's ever experienced. She's made a couple mistakes, but those stemmed from desperation, not from disobedience, and now she's more than made up for that. She's been good, and so it's only natural to reward her for her behavior.

And on the other hand, Beca just wants to make her come. She wants to watch Chloe fall apart beneath her touch, and she wants to watch it now, so she works towards it diligently. Each curl and thrust of her fingers brings her submissive closer to the edge, farther and farther past the line of return. She holds Chloe's eyes the entire time, stroking her and pressing into the warmth and tightness like she owns her (which, she reminders herself, she _does_ ). She curls her fingers once more, more deeply than before, and presses down hard on the swollen little nub, staring deeply into hooded sapphire, seeing the awe and joy and devotion shimmering there, and then Chloe shatters.

It's the most beautiful thing she's ever witnessed; Chloe's cheeks are flushed bright red, her features twisted with ecstasy, but it's her eyes that get to Beca the most; they're locked onto her own, still, even as Chloe quakes and trembles and falls apart; even as she cries out beautifully, something unintelligible but full of gratitude and devotion, while her eyes shine with something beyond all rapture and joy. It takes longer than a minute for her body to relax from the stiffened position it's in, but she doesn't stop shaking, and on a whim, Beca presses down with her thumb again, and Chloe's coming for a second time, this time with a long, low moan. Her whole body trembles with the force of her release, and Beca doesn't stop her movements until it's clear that she's finally done.

Chloe sags in her restraints, and Beca hastens to withdraw her fingers and uncuff her, and gathers her drained submissive tenderly in her arms. Chloe is still quivering uncontrollably, her body fairly vibrating. Beca carries her across the room to the couch and settles with her there, leaning back and simply letting Chloe cling to her with a franticness that draws lines in her skin through her shirt. It takes her a moment to realize that the ginger's shaking is stemming from two causes – exhaustion and tears. Chloe is sobbing against her collarbone, all the while trying to bury herself deeper into Beca's embrace. Feeling tears soak her heated skin, Beca willingly tightens her hold.

They lie there for hours, curled around each other, while Chloe clings to her and sobs. Beca combs her fingers through tangled auburn hair with one hand, stroking the sweaty, shaky skin of Chloe's bare back with the other. She allows her touch to linger over the bumps in the submissive's spine, tracing the knots of bones and well-defined muscles that tremble with exhaustion. They're both completely naked, but the situation isn't remotely sexual; it's steady and comfortable and soothing. Chloe is tangled all around her body, legs intertwined, their arms curled around each other to hold each other close. Her face is tucked in Beca's neck, but her ear is against the brunette's chest, right above her heart, and Beca feels her press closer to the strong, steady beat, as though drawing strength from its regularity.

Chloe's mind and heart are in turmoil. She has no way of describing what she's just experienced other than to recognize that it's unlike anything she's ever known. All she knows is that a slew of emotions that she wasn't even aware existed are overwhelming her, and that while being cradled against Beca's body doesn't make them go away – she doesn't think she _wants_ them to go away – it soothes her. Being as close to her Mistress as possible makes dealing with all of those overpowering feelings less daunting.

They lie there for longer than either of them can register, long enough so that Chloe, who has been timing seconds by Beca's heartbeat, loses track somewhere in the ten thousands, and still they lie there. All the while, Beca murmurs to her lovingly, caressing her skin and pressing reverent kisses to the top of her head, whispering things like, _you're such a good girl_ , and _you did so well_ , and _I'm so proud of you_. It doesn't entirely ease Chloe's inner hurricane, but it does enough to soothe it so that eventually, after what's probably over an hour of lying nestled in Beca's arms, she feels able to sit up.

The moment she starts to move, Beca is holding her again, pulling her in close and nestling her into the warm curves of her body. She sits up, but it's with Chloe in her arms, and when she's gotten her submissive settled in a comfortable enough position, she stands and carries her bridal style into the adjoining bathroom.

Chloe is laid down on the padded bench at one end of the room, and finds that it has more than enough room for her to stretch out as far as she can in every direction. Beca tends to her there, removing her wrist cuffs, gently cleaning her with a warm washcloth, and padding her softly dry with a large, fluffy towel. Then she helps her to turn over onto her stomach and slips a pillow beneath her head. Chloe turns slightly to look at her, opening her mouth to question her as to what's going on, but then Beca's hands begin to smooth the soothing lotion into her burning, sensitive skin, and she relaxes in understanding. A contented hum escapes her lips as Beca moves upwards to knead at her tense shoulders and back.

This Beca is so different from the demanding Mistress she'd been facing earlier, but she's also somehow the same. Her movements are just as authorative and sure, but she's gentle with her caresses, and her words are quiet and affectionate. It leaves Chloe with a deep sense of being cared for and respected. The feeling lingers as Beca runs a brush smoothly through her hair, and as she gathers Chloe in her arms again to help her sit up. Tenderly, she dresses her in a pair of matching pajama pants and tee shirt, both of them sky blue, soft, and warm from being draped over a heating rack. A warm robe is eased around her shoulders, and then Beca helps her to her feet.

A strong, supporting arm is wrapped around her waist, and Beca guides her slowly back into the room. There, she settles her in the bed and departs momentarily, only to return with a small bowl of fruit and crackers and a bottle of water, which she encourages Chloe to consume. The redhead obeys without a murmur, and, upon accepting the food, discovers that she's actually exceedingly hungry. When she's done, she sits back against the headboard, warm and relaxed but drained beyond belief.

Beca moves around the room for several minutes, tidying up and placing items back in their respective cabinets, and then she, too, dons a pair of pajamas and slips into bed beside her exhausted submissive. Chloe immediately snuggles into her.

"Are you all right, sweetheart?" Beca whispers into thick hair. "How do you feel?" Chloe's first response is a quiet hum, which tells Beca the answer to her first query. Then up from the general area of her collarbone comes a mumbled response. "What was that, Chloe?" Chloe shifts, curling an arm around Beca's waist, to look up at her Mistress with a smile that, while small, radiates happiness and contentment.

"I feel wonderful, ma'am. Thank you for taking care of me. I – no one's ever done that for me before," she says honestly. Beca frowns, shifting to pull the taller girl deeper into her embrace.

"No one's ever done what for you, Chloe?" she wants to know. Chloe shrugs, the movement displacing her grasp a little bit.

"Held me afterwards. Made sure that I was all right," she says offhandedly. When Beca doesn't respond, she looks up. Her Mistress's face is frozen with shock.

"No one's ever given you aftercare?" She sounds absolutely stunned. It's Chloe's turn to frown, a suspicious feeling creeping up on her. She's heard that phrase before, but largely ignored it in the past – it had never pertained to what she was doing.

"No?" It's a question, and one that makes the shock in Beca's eyes turn first to anger, and then transform into a steady, warm determination.

"Well, now you'll have it," she says simply, and wraps her arms more securely around Chloe's waist.

"Why, ma'am?" Chloe asks curiously. She has the strangest feeling that she's just been given an incredible gift that she doesn't quite know how to recognize. Beca glances down at her, and the look in her darkened eyes is kind and meaningful, edged with a hint of possessiveness that steals Chloe's breath away.

"Because now you're mine, Chloe," she tells her quietly. Stroking a hand affectionately up and down her submissive's spine, she closes her eyes, her lips pressed lightly to vibrant hair.

When she begins to hum, it starts as a vibration against delicate bones, and travels down Chloe's body in a shiver.


	4. Interlude (Morning-After)

**A/N: So oh my sweet Jesus Christ on a cracker, I am so freaking sorry. I spilled water on my laptop like a dumbass in mid-October and had to wait until I was back in the US to get another one. I got it YESTERDAY and so now I will be back to updating as I used to. Thank you all so much for being so patient with me, and for all of the lovely reviews! You're all so sweet.  
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 **As RocketAlana pointed out, I've been totally ignoring the reality of NYC traffic. I don't live there and never have, so I should have paid more attention to that. Thanks for letting me know, and I will be going back to amend that.**

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 ***Someone remarked on wanting a morning-after scene for chapter three, so that's what this chapter is; I'm in the middle of writing the date chapter as you're reading this, and it will probably be up today or tomorrow.***

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When Beca's eyes flutter open, she's simultaneously made aware of two things: one is the scent of coffee permeating the air. The other is that the space beside her in the bed is vacant; Chloe is no longer curled into her side. For a moment, she feels the old, irrational sensation of panic rising within her, but then she chances a glance to her left, and her tensed limbs immediately relax. Chloe is standing at the bedside with two cups of coffee in her hands, her head up but her bright eyes downcast. Her collar is visible at her throat beneath the edges of a robe that might as well be transparent for all it offers in the way of modesty. She stands up straight, as she always does, but something about her stance is powerfully suggestive of submission, her entire presence humble and reserved.  
It makes Beca's heartbeat instantly quicken.

"Good morning, Mistress," Chloe greets softly, not removing her gaze from her rug. "I hoped you weren't awake yet; I didn't want you to worry about where I'd gone. I know that you like to have coffee before doing anything, though, so I made some." She seems a little concerned that the course of action she chose was unwise, and Beca is quick to mollify her, sitting up to take the cups and place them on the bedside table. Once they've been safely set down, she takes her submissive's hands in her own.

"Look at me, please, love," she says quietly, and Chloe's eyes immediately flicker upwards. Beca smiles. "Thank you; that was very thoughtful of you." She makes sure to imbue her words with the deepest sincerity she can muster; it means more than she knows how to articulate that Chloe is so comfortable in her new role. She's adjusted quickly by any standards, but considering that she's only recently left a relationship that was so lacking in trust and respect, she's startlingly at ease. She's a natural, Beca decides, her gaze roving appreciatively over pale, pretty skin. She's never encountered another human being who is so inherently trusting and eager to please.

"You're welcome, Mistress," Chloe mumbles, a slight tinge of pink falling to her cheeks, and Beca gives her hands a gentle tug.

"Come here, please," she urges. Immediately, Chloe's eyes light up; she's so quick that she's up on the bed almost before Beca even sees her move. The brunette offers her a grin in response, and pulls gently at her again so that she's straddling the domme. Her legs hug Beca's thighs tightly, impossibly warm, and Beca can't help kissing her; she just can't. It's a little new to her, this powerful magnetic pull. She's never quite known anything like the constant desire she feels for Chloe, and it's not just a physical want; the need to know Chloe, in every possible way, is burning strongly within her and growing more powerful by the moment.

It doesn't quite manage to distract her from her duties, though, and when the kiss grows heated enough that they have to break away momentarily for air, she tilts their foreheads together to look into Chloe's warm eyes.

"How do you feel?" she inquires, never once for a minute forgetting her duties as a Mistress despite being overwhelmed by feeling. Chloe's response is a beautiful smile.

"Wonderful," she replies softly. Beca's heartbeat picks up a little at the admission, but she manages to keep her focus.

"Are you sore?" she asks, in lieu of the many suggestive comments she'd like to make, and she watches intently as Chloe bites her lip. The action makes something twist hotly low in her belly.

"Yes."

"Let me see." She keeps her voice soft and controlled, but more than a hint of dominant force slips into her tone, and it makes Chloe visibly tremble. Trying not to let herself get distracted by the reaction, she reaches up to finger the edge of the submissive's robe. "May I?"

"As you wish, Mistress," Chloe replies smoothly, instantly, and with such genuine pleasure that Beca has to glance up, a little incredulously, to check the sincerity in her eyes. They burn with it.

Seeing that, she doesn't hesitate.

When she removes the garment, she does so deliberately, slowly revealing each margin of soft skin with a reverence that ought to belong in one of the movies that so bore her. Automatically, she leans forward to press slow, open-mouthed kisses to every inch of skin – the junction of neck and shoulder, a delicate jawline; the hollow at the base of Chloe's throat. The sensation elicits a little gasp, and when her lips trail down to warm breasts, Chloe's head falls back, her lips parting with a quiet moan. Beca immediately wraps an arm around her, steadying her at the small of her back and winding her fingers up to tangle in her hair. Her other hand smooths down over heated skin, across the planes of firm muscles and the dip of Chloe's waist, down to meet the wetness between her legs.

A throaty whimper is the response to this course of action, one that encourages Beca to bite down lightly on the nipple she's currently wrapped her lips around. She moves slowly, knowing that Chloe is probably feeling a little discomfort and not wanting to exacerbate it. Right now is not about pain; if a punishment were due, Beca would have no problem using the redhead's soreness to her advantage, but that's not what this moment is about. If anything, her submissive is being rewarded – rewarded for being so good; so sweet and demure and well behaved, and for trusting Beca the way she did last night.

It's only the beginning, and she has a distinct feeling that there will be much more to come, but it's safe to say that Beca, if she were to let herself, could be feeling a little overwhelmed. Chloe has given her a beautiful gift; the gift of her faith and submission, her vulnerability. She's trusted Beca blindly with her care and happiness to an extent that no other has, and while it sounds – and feels – a little cliché to Beca, who hates such sappy predictabilities with a vengeance, she has to admit that if she doesn't pay attention, it will take her breath away. Chloe is so responsive, so eager to make her Mistress happy, and even without the rest of the scenario in play, Beca decides that that warrants pleasure.

That's what she's here for, after all; this relationship is for their enjoyment. It's her job to make Chloe feel good, and she's going to do right by that duty. She's going to make submission worth her while, and she's going to be there to hold and comfort her in the overwhelming aftermath when the collar is removed and the emotions come soaring back in.

It doesn't take her long; just a minute or two, perhaps even fewer, of stroking and pressing, of drawing tight little circles and flickering her fingers in a precise movement that she knows will work like no other. There is no teasing, no drawing out of action, though her movements are slow and intentional. She works diligently to bring Chloe to the edge, and when she reaches it, to send her over it powerfully, bringing a sharp gasp, and to draw it out with a volley of shudders and caresses, stroking her softly to bring her down until her body goes weak and her head falls against Beca's chest so that she can lie in her domme's arms and tremble as the aftershocks fade away.

"Better?" Beca murmurs once she's fully relaxed. Above her, Chloe's diaphragm shakes with giggles. She pulls back, sweeping her hair over her shoulder, to grin at Beca almost impishly.

"Yes, thank you," she says teasingly. Beca finds herself grinning in return as she pulls the thin sleeves of the robe back up over Chloe's shoulders.

"Good," she says with a laugh. "Now, would you please help me get dressed?" Chloe immediately moves back off the bed, offering her Mistress a hand to help her down.

"Yes, Mistress." She follows Beca to the other side of the room, where the domme gestures to a dresser beside the cabinet of towels.

"I trust you to choose something suitable for breakfast," she says simply, before falling into a nearby chair to observe. Chloe swallows, a little nervous; from what she's seen, Beca chooses her outfits very carefully, and she wants to do her Mistress justice. Having Beca watch her only makes the concept more nerve-wracking.

She relaxes, however, upon opening the drawers; the possibilities before her are varied, though not endless, and could all fit together in any combination to make for a suitable outfit. She paws through the drawers for a few minutes, all the while aware of Beca's eyes on her. She suspects that the domme is tracing her kneeling form; she can almost feel the hungry gaze traveling up her exposed legs from her ankles.

She ends up choosing a pair of tight black jeans and a navy blouse, one that she's certain will highlight Beca's eyes. She knows her choice is approved upon presenting it when Beca fixes her with a pleased smile and a stroke to her hair that slides down to linger at the back of her neck.

"Very good, my pet." Chloe feels herself warm with the praise and smiles, moving to kneel happily on the rug while her Mistress dresses and does her hair. Beca moves to her a few minutes later, brush in hand. "Come here, please, love," she summons, and Chloe immediately obeys. She tilts her head back and allows her eyes to flutter closed as Beca brushes out her hair. Once it's been untangled, Beca slips her fingers into silky tresses to draw patterns affectionately against her scalp, and Chloe releases a long sigh of contentment. This is such a large part of what she's been wanting.

She's spent the past two years in search of something loving and enjoyable, and it seems she's finally found it. This, along with the events of last night, is the perfect combination of control and affection for which she's been yearning for so long. She can't remember another time when she's felt so satisfied, and she knows that most of it stems from being beneath the control of someone who treats her well and constantly reminds her of her ownership. Beca is truly wonderful.

"Chloe." Her Mistress's voice jolts Chloe back to her senses; her eyes fly open, and she turns her head to find Beca watching her with her eyes glinting with a combination of longing and curiosity. "I'd like to step outside now and release you so that we may eat our breakfast and talk. I'm sure there's a lot going on in your head that you'd like to get out," she says knowingly. Chloe's eyes widen at her perceptiveness; Beca is absolutely right. She would benefit immensely from discussing some of what's on her mind. She's always found conversation to be a good form of release, and while it's nothing to what she's experienced in the past twelve hours, a slight difference in methodology might be beneficial now, before she goes so deep that she'll be overwhelmed.

"Yes Mistress," she confirms, though she doesn't move to stand until Beca says that she may. "That sounds nice." She waits to rise until Beca threads her fingers more deeply into her hair and gives a gentle upward tug. Then, slowly, she follows her Mistress to the door and out into the hallway.

The moment the door is shut, Chloe expects to feel a difference, a subtle change in atmosphere that comes from leaving the only room in which she's submitted, so she's surprised when she feels no switch. She fidgets a little in confusion, but continues to keep her eyes demurely lowered until Beca tips her head up with a fingertip beneath her chin.

The domme's eyes are solemn when she speaks, but her voice is caring, and imbued with the same warmth it always is, and it serves to make Chloe instantly relax.

"I'm going to take the collar off, now, Chloe," she says quietly, and her voice has a way of snapping Chloe's mind instantly to attention. "The hours we've spent together since last night have been very intense, and since this was your first time submitting to me, everything is new and your emotions are strong. You've been in a powerfully influential mindset for an extended period of time, so you'll probably feel overwhelmed when you're first released. That's only natural, and the first moments when you're released can be extremely intense, so I want you to be know something, Chloe, and I need you to hear me," she says intently. Chloe nods up at her slowly, captivated by the profound, complex, indecipherable emotion in her Mistress's eyes.

"I'm listening," she responds solemnly, and she is; she doesn't know that she's ever paid more careful attention to anything in her life. Something about Beca's voice is holding her, keeping her attention firmly ensnared in her Mistress's words.

Beca doesn't break eye contact, but her gaze flickers with something unreadable as she trails the fingers of her left hand down to caress the delicate bones at the base of Chloe's throat.

"It's still early," she says. "And I'm not certain where your mind is at the moment. However, I need you to be aware that while I will, unless otherwise requested, restrict my dominance to moments when you are wearing your collar . . . you needn't do the same," she says lowly. When the redhead frowns slightly in confusion, she brings up her other hand to swipe her thumb over the graceful arc of a cheekbone. "What I mean, Chloe, is that unless you ask me to, I will never act as your Mistress when your collar is not on. It's right and respectful, and unless you request it, I will not ask that this element of our relationship merge into the rest of day-to-day life. However, if you find yourself wanting to submit, no matter the time or place, you may do so. I will not act as your domme in those moments, but I will essentially take on the role of one, so while I will not be your Mistress, caring for you is still a priority. I know that it's not automatic when your collar is not on, but if, when you are released, you find yourself overwhelmed, you may trust me to care for you in the same way that you do now," she concludes seriously, and Chloe knows it's true.

God, she knows; she knows that what Beca's saying is true, and she knows that while trust might not be quite as automatic as it is right now, it still will be to a large extent, because she's never been this connected to anyone. She's never trusted anyone the way she trusts Beca; she's placed deep, unquestioning faith in her, perhaps even blindly, and nothing has ever felt better than that. She knows that she can trust Beca to take care of her, and so she nods, and murmurs a quiet agreement, and bows her head in a last show of submission. Beca's heated fingertips dance briefly on her skin, then the leather loosens and is removed, and raising her eyes back up to the brunette's, the emotions hit Chloe like a heavy metal bat in the chest.

She staggers, stunned by the sudden onslaught of feelings; her hands fly out instinctively as though to catch a fall, and Beca is there, but Beca waits. She doesn't step in immediately to comfort her, as she would have a moment ago; she stands back with her hands at her sides and waits respectfully for Chloe to gasp out a shocked, breathless, "Beca!" before she gathers her into her arms.

"Shhh, it's okay; I've got you," Beca murmurs soothingly, and it's different; her presence is still steady and comforting, but she's more personal and less forceful in her consoling than before. She's just Beca, not a domme; just Beca offering comfort and support. Chloe drinks it in, gasping, clinging to her as she struggles to balance her wild emotions. Even their hug is different – she's holding on to Beca, and Beca's holding her back, but there's no power in her embrace; only strength and steadiness. She's letting Chloe dictate when to hold on and when to let go, letting Chloe take what she needs instead of determining those needs for her.

It's different, but she still enjoys it immensely.

Once she manages to gain a little control back, Chloe leans up to look Beca in the eyes. She's feeling a little system-shocked right now, a combination of satisfaction and vulnerability that's definitely accompanied by a sense of loss. She meets the brunette's eyes and has to fight the urge to look away, feeling a little embarrassed of her actions now that Beca is no longer her Mistress. One is easy to feel awkward in front of; the other is not. She misses the safety that came from having an excuse to completely let go without worrying about the outward appearance of such exposure.

Beca's hand rubs soothing circles on her back through the thin material of her robe.

"Are you all right, Chloe?" she asks, and there's no hint of dominance in her tone, no overpowering sense of care or responsibility – only genuine curiosity and concern.

"I think so," she responds quietly, but doesn't offer up anything else. After a few moments, she takes a step back, wrapping her arms around herself, suddenly feeling very exposed.

"Would you like to put some clothes on?" Beca inquires softly, sensing her discomfort. "I'm sorry; I should have thought of that earlier." Chloe nods gratefully.

"Yeah, that would be – I think I'll just – " she doesn't really know what to say, and so settles for stepping slowly backwards down the hall towards her room until Beca grants her an easy smile.

"Go ahead," she says, with a nod in the direction of the spare bedroom. "I'll be in the kitchen when you're done."

Considering her level of anxiety, Chloe takes a surprisingly short time to dress; part of it might be attributed to the fact that she feels largely at ease whenever she's in Beca's presence, along with the fact that she tends to run her mouth in times of stress. Whatever the case is, she moves quickly, hurriedly donning a pair of comfortable jeans and another one of Stacie's sweaters before moving to join Beca in the kitchen.

She doesn't pause on her way out to check her appearance in the full-length mirror – she knows that she's dressed, regardless of what she looks like, and something makes her feel distinctly that even looking into her own eyes right now and seeing the emotions brewing there will deepen the sense of vulnerability she's feeling. It's not altogether a positive feeling, either; as a submissive, being exposed is enjoyable and liberating, but part of her uncollared self – the part, perhaps, that is still keenly feeling the effects of Mark's inadequacy and the emotions it stirred up – is still a touch uncomfortable with her own submission. It may be an instinct of self-preservation; she isn't entirely certain. All she knows is that part of her isn't yet completely accepting of the other half of her: a part that's deeply imbedded in her character – the part that enjoys being so willingly exposed.

Beca isn't her domme right now, and she's feeling a little awkward remembering what they just shared, but Chloe's holding out a little on the hope that Beca will be able to ease her inner turmoil all the same.

They eat in silence, Chloe struggling not to curl up beneath the glances Beca is sending her way. When they're finished, Beca stands to clear their plates, and as she walks over to the sink, Chloe finds her eyes drawn to the brunette's every action. She moves gracefully, with a now toned-down but still indisputably present hint of confident purpose, and Chloe finds herself somewhat soothed by it. She has to concede to herself, at least, that while she's a little spooked right now by an element of her own personality, she immensely enjoyed what they recently shared. Her insecurities have nothing to do with Beca – in fact, they're lessened by her involvement.

That realization helps the redhead to calm a little, so that when Beca asks her quietly if she'd like to move to the living room, she agrees and follows with her shoulders slightly less tense than before.

They end up curled beneath blankets on the couch, clinging to their respective coffee cups as Beca broaches the subject that's dangling over their heads. She isn't tentative in bringing it up, for which Chloe is grateful; she needs some stability right now. The ensuing conversation involves a lot of careful communication regarding needs and preferences, and while Chloe blushes for the entirety of the discussion, she finds herself inarguably soothed by Beca's presence; by her attentiveness, her steadiness, and the crinkles that form around her eyes when she laughs.

She's addicted, Chloe realizes as they talk, watching Beca's eyes light up with amusement at something she says. She's addicted to this woman, and it's hardly been a week. Maybe there will be deterrents to her affections once they get to know each other a little better, but honestly? She just bared her soul to the woman; things don't get a lot more personal than that. Sure, they don't know much about the facts of each other's lives – favorite colors, family histories, and other mundane qualities in that category – but they know each other. Undeniably, they know each other, and in a way that few people get to experience.

"Beca?" she says softly some time later when they've fallen into a bout of silence. The brunette's head snaps up from where she's watching her fingers interlock around her coffee cup.

"Hmm?"

"I . . . how often are you willing to do this with me?" she asks tentatively. It's odd, how hesitant she is these days; it's a habit she picked up in Mark's presence. She never used to be so reserved before. A negative catalyst of it could be her previous experiences; a positive one, and the more likely of the two, she thinks, is that her submissive side has been brought out further in the past few days than ever before. She's still Chloe, still outgoing and bubbly and lighthearted, but this is something that she needs. Submission is something that she craves, whether it means a simple relinquishment of responsibility or the snap of leather falling against her back until she screams.

"That depends on several things," Beca says slowly, sitting up in order to convey attentiveness. "Obviously, there will be days when we need to take time as just us or when one of us needs to take a break, but it's also clear to me that your need to submit is fairly strong. In my case, it's a little different; you switch mindsets to a degree when you submit, but I always carry some degree of dominance. Therefore, it's a less dramatic change for me when I actually act on it, so I don't need breaks as often. That isn't to mention that the decision to submit should in almost every circumstance be yours; once you've submitted to me, I take your control, but I'd rather not overstep any boundaries by forcing submission when you're not in the mood. Knowing that, my proposal is this – I leave it up to you."

"What do you mean?" Chloe asks curiously, shifting forward slightly in her seat.

"Well," Beca starts, focusing her eyes directly on the redhead's. "That also depends. Since the collar you wear marks you as mine, I won't let you carry it with you out of my presence. As you know, it is your decision to put it on, but otherwise, I am in possession of it. I can leave it here – not in a place where others could see, if you would prefer; somewhere that you are familiar with, where you can choose to put it on as you wish. I would suggest, however, that you carry with you another type of collar – one that can pass as a necklace to people unfamiliar with the lifestyle – so that if you are ever away from the house and need to relinquish control, you can have some beginning of that while you wait for me. Does that sound acceptable?" she asks, with such seriousness and dedication in her eyes that Chloe has to fight in order to refrain from automatically lowering her gaze.

"Yes, that sounds good," she murmurs in response. Her tone and posture are so demure that Beca leans forward curiously, her eyes sparkling with intrigue.

"Chloe?" she asks lightly.

"Beca."

"Are you feeling submissive?" Beca questions astutely, and this time, Chloe meets her gaze with her subservience practically spilling out of her eyes.

"Very," she admits, and Beca's eyes burn with something intense.

"Even though you're not wearing your collar?" Chloe bites her lower lip and ducks her head, still looking up bashfully through her lashes.

"I . . . I've never been good at . . . separating that part of myself," she confesses, feeling a slight burn take up residence in her cheeks. It's not so much embarrassment as it is uncertainty – uncertainty that has nothing to do with Beca and everything to do with her own mind. Knowing that Beca can ease that, will ease that, is steadying, but she feels her heart skip and her hands tremble a little. She's always been good at keeping herself from falling into a state of discomfort with her own thoughts and feelings, has always been good at accepting the way that her mind works, but on the rare occasions that she can't, she doesn't quite know how to get out of that trap. It's hard to do on her own.

"Hey," Beca says softly, seeming to sense her unease. She scoots forward a little to lay a hand over one of Chloe's; soothingly, she traces little patterns along the lines made by the tensed ridges of tendons. "You can talk to me about it, you know." Despite herself, Chloe coughs out a tiny laugh.

"I don't need a shrink."

"Not like that," Beca counters with a slight smile. "I mean that I'm listening, and if you want me to, I can help you get a little control over it – or I can help you be okay with it – but I can't do that without knowing a little more." She's so genuine, so wide-eyed in her sincerity, her hands are gently playing with Chloe's fingers, so Chloe really feels justified in her sudden inability to form actual words.

"I – well it's – I don't know that – " she stammers out, and cuts herself off as Beca lays a tender kiss to the back of her hand. "Um . . . I can't . . . think straight when you're . . . touching me like that," she mumbles. Beca's answering grin is sudden and delighted; she sweeps her thumb over the backs of tight knuckles once before withdrawing. Something in Chloe aches at the loss; she fights the urge to seize the brunette's hands and bring them back.

"I'll try to restrain myself," Beca says solemnly, though her eyes twinkle suggestively. Chloe has to swallow before speaking, and even then it takes her a moment to remember what she was actually trying to say.

"Right – I um . . . I've never been good at limiting my um . . . submissive side . . . to when I'm actually wearing a collar," she says, a little loudly in her emphasis over remembering. "I don't really know how to hold it back." Beca nods, and seems to have forgotten her earlier resolution, as she takes Chloe's hands in hers and begins to softly tangle their fingers together once more.

"I can understand that," she says knowingly. "I think that for me, it's a little more important to restrain myself, because being in control all the time is a little demanding; you don't impose by showing submission. I do understand the struggle to contain that need, though – I'm always possessive to a degree, even when I'm not acting as a domme." Chloe nods absently, a little distracted by Beca's roaming hands, which have now begun to caress her wrists.

"If we both feel that way, then, what should we do with that?" she manages to ask after struggling to collect her thoughts. Beca's lips are tenderly brushing the inside of her wrist, so it takes her a moment to respond.

"We can let it happen," she suggests seriously, and drops the redhead's wrist. "I don't ever want to force you to submit without a collar; obviously there will be times when neither of us will be in the mood. So I think that when you're not wearing the collar but feel the need to submit, I can exert a little control without being a domme – it's clearly a natural dynamic of our relationship, so I see no problem in indulging that side of us, as long as we make it clear to each other when we don't want to engage in it." What Beca is saying makes sense; it really does. It's reasonable and thoughtful and open, as Beca always is, and Chloe registers that and is endlessly grateful for it – honestly. She just can't focus on it right now.

"That . . . sounds good," she manages to choke out. When Beca raises an eyebrow at her over the curve of her wrist, she almost looses it completely. "But you're still touching me right now, and it's making me really hot and bothered, so I'd love to discuss this completely another time, but right now, I just really, really want to touch you."

There's a brief moment of pause during which Beca blinks in surprise, but then her lips spread in a smile that can only be described as delighted, and then she's crashing into Chloe and pushing her back on the couch, and that's the end of all coherent thought for a long, long time.


	5. Sinking Into You

**A/N: I'm so, so sorry for the delay my lovelies! As a lot of you know, I've been doing a lot of moving, and the internet has been absolute crap. I've been trying to post this for days. That being said, I'm not super proud of it, but let me know what you think!**

* * *

Chloe spends the majority of the next few days with her collar fastened securely around her neck. While some might find it restricting, she discovers quite the opposite. For her, it's a liberating experience; she's spent so much time in the past couple of years dreading having a collar on, and yet uncertain of how to act when it's taken off, and so now, with the situation so different, she finds the feeling relaxing. With Mark, the feel of the leather around her neck had always induced a heaviness in her stomach that stemmed partially from claustrophobia and mostly from discomfort with what her life had become. He being her first and only Master up until recently, she had never considered the existence of an alternative.

Now, the experience is entirely the opposite. The collar makes her feel a comfortable combination of secure, cared for, and controlled, and she's discovered that the feeling is due to the fact that it's _Beca's_ collar she wears. Beca is steady and devoted, unyielding yet doting; for Chloe, it's a perfect combination. Being controlled is gratifying. It's easy for her to make decisions this way; if she gets distressed while debating whether or not she wants to participate in something, her submissive side eventually grows tired of the battle and makes the decision for her. She need only say yes with the knowledge that Beca will care for her; it's still early, but she trusts the woman with her life and soul.

On the third day, she's standing at the sink doing the dishes, clad only in her panties and a button down, when a slightly smaller body molds itself against her back. There's no warning, but she doesn't startle, instead feeling a pleased smile creep across her lips as slender hands slide beneath her shirt and wrap steadily around her hips.

"Mistress," she greets without flinching, continuing to wash the plate she holds. The answer comes in the form of blunt fingernails digging into her skin. Chloe lets out a low hiss at the sensation, but otherwise doesn't react. Beca is in a playful mood; she has been all day, and Chloe is interested to see where things will lead if her suggestive teasing isn't entertained.

In response, one of the hands deserts her hipbones in favor of moving lower, slipping just beneath the hem of her underwear to splay out across her lower abdomen. With a tug, she's brought even farther back into the brunette's embrace. She struggles not to gasp as Beca widens her stance to cradle Chloe with her hips, pressing firmly against her in every place their bodies touch. The other hand comes up to lightly brush the side of her breast when a slender arm wraps securely around her diaphragm. It's meant to hold her in place, and it does so effectively; Chloe doesn't move to test it, but she can tell that she can't escape.

She does move, however, when Beca's other hand slides the rest of the way into her panties, and she's suddenly clenching tightly around long, slender fingers. She arches violently backwards with a surprised hiss, one hand coming up to grip Beca's hair and the other scrabbling for purchase on the granite of the counter. Her Mistress tightens her arm around her ribcage to keep her still, and slips her foot between Chloe's to knock her legs further apart. Chloe moans wantonly at the feeling of Beca's thumb tracing delicate circles around her clit, and then suddenly, she's being spun around, and her back is slamming into the fridge with enough force to rattle the magnets that Stacie insists on leaving up.

Her shirt is unbuttoned before she can register what's happening; Beca drags blunt nails across tight abs, up to knead at the tender flesh of her breasts. The fingers of her other hand stay buried deep within her core. A throaty groan escapes Chloe's lips when Beca fits in another finger and curls the digits hard on every thrust. Immediately, the sound is smothered by urgent lips pressing insistently over hers.

Chloe's lower body curves into Beca's, her back bowing away from the fridge. Her fingers tighten in dark hair while the other hand scrabbles desperately for support, finally settling on Beca's shoulder and digging her nails in tightly every time the brunette hits her most sensitive spot.

 _"_ _Fuck!"_ Beca's answering smirk is positively evil.

"You've got an awfully dirty mouth there, Red," she purrs, reaching down to hitch one of Chloe's legs up around her waist. A hiss is the redhead's only audible response, but the new angle is clearly more effective; Beca watches as cerulean eyes darken and grow hooded, and can't hold back a satisfied grin when Chloe bites her lip and tosses her head back a moment later in desperation.

"Mistress – Mistress, _please_ – I – I need to – " her desperate pleas are cut off by a scream when Beca twists her fingers ever so slightly upwards, and she shakes. It only takes a couple more hard, driving thrusts of Beca's fingers before Chloe is falling, her swollen lips parting in a scream, nails digging hard into the skin of the smaller woman's shoulder blades. It goes on for a long time – longer than she's used to, until her screams die into harsh pants and intermittent cries when Beca unexpectedly moves inside her. She's weak-kneed and quivering and barely able to stand, remaining on her feet only by the support of Beca holding her against the fridge. After a long while, during which Beca no longer fights for control but moves her fingers softly to bring her down, smoothing hot, open-mouthed kisses over her collarbone, Chloe finally manages to regain some semblance of balance.

She struggles to stand on her own, and Beca notices, stepping back to allow her the room to stand. She remains close, however, cradling quavering ribs with an arm wrapped tightly around her back as she presses a kiss to the corner of the redhead's mouth. She hasn't bothered to remove her fingers; they're still buried snugly within Chloe, and when she makes a move to withdraw them after a minute, the ginger's only response is to shake her head and move a hand down to hold Beca's wrist in place.

"Please, I . . . not yet," is all she says, but Beca can easily read the need in her eyes. It's something she's learned quickly in her weeks with her new sub. Chloe loves physical contact. It's a clear necessity for her; she enjoys being snuggled and held, but it's obvious to Beca that she craves the intimacy of being touched with a need more intense than being cuddled.

It's fine by Beca; she's not one for physical contact with friends, but she's always found that with a submissive, she doesn't mind. And somehow, that's only exacerbated by Chloe's presence; it hasn't been long, but it's blatantly obvious to both of them that they share a bond deeper and more intense than they've ever experienced with anyone else. She enjoys being close with Chloe, whether it's merely a quick hug or an intense cuddle session brought on by deep emotions. The protectiveness she feels for the girl helps – she feels a nearly constant need to wrap herself around Chloe's body and hold her close.

Knowing this, she doesn't question the redhead's request. Instead, she brings her closer, pulling her near while adjusting her hand so that her fingers rest even more deeply within the tight warmth of Chloe's body. With their bodies so close, radiating heat, and having just seen the way the girl fell apart for her, she can't help fluttering her fingers occasionally in an effort to bring further pleasure. She presses a kiss above the taller woman's eyebrow to quell the whimper that escapes at the intimate touch.

She's only known her for a few weeks, but the intensity with which Chloe has settled into her life astounds Beca. It's strange and powerful and a little bit intimidating, but with every conversation, every glance; every tender touch, she finds herself being drawn closer and closer by magnetic force that seems to have settled around the sweet, gorgeous young woman who has accepted their relationship like a precious gift. Chloe offers herself up to Beca every minute of every day, heart and soul, and it's by far the most beautiful thing Beca has ever witnessed. It instills in her a constant desire to cater to the redhead's needs, so that for the first time in her life, she finds that she has an inkling of what it's like to want to serve someone; her need to constantly care for Chloe, to touch her and kiss her, ensure her comfort and happiness, to make her feel good, is more powerful than she knows how to handle.

Chloe buries her face in Beca's neck, almost unable to speak.

 _"_ _Jesus."_ The astounded murmur is quite all that she can manage, but Beca seems to understand. They've gotten extremely well acquainted over the few weeks that they've been together, and even more adept at reading one another.

"Sorry to surprise you like that," Beca apologizes quietly, readjusting Chloe's shirt where it has slipped off her shoulder. "I just . . . you looked so beautiful standing there. I couldn't help myself." It's a massive understatement to say that Chloe doesn't mind. It's also a little odd to her that the younger woman is apologizing – as _Beca_ she is always careful not to overstep boundaries, but as a domme, as Chloe's Mistress, she doesn't apologize.

She's careful, of course, not to cause actual mental discomfort or to inflict physical injury; she's always vigilant. However, that doesn't stop her from being in total control – if anything, it aids it – and total control means that she doesn't apologize. Her actions are purposeful; her word is law. That fact leaves no room for apologies.

Chloe is thankful for that – she's never really seen much value in apologizing, which might seem odd when contrasted with her general nature, but in all frankness, she finds it fairly pointless. It's nice to know that someone is sorry, but there's no real _purpose_ in it. She considers it useless in the rest of the world, not to mention in this world, the world in which she accepts pain wordlessly on her knees. In _this_ world, she really, _really_ doesn't see the point.

"I like surprises," she says in lieu of accepting the apology, and Beca seems to understand what she's not saying, for she grins and twists her fingers ever-so-slightly once more, causing Chloe's head to fall to her shoulder with a long, heavy groan.

* * *

Hardly an hour later, Chloe finds herself standing on the step of Stacie's girlfriend's house, nervously biting her lip and struggling to find something appropriate to do with her hands. Seeing her anxiety, Beca silently reaches over and entwines their fingers. Chloe immediately melts beneath the soothing touch; her shoulders drop, and she shoots the brunette a smile so full of warmth and light that it makes Beca's heart flutter. When she stops to think about it, it's a little ridiculous how easily this beautiful girl winds her up, but what can she say? Chloe is gorgeous and sweet and so, so precious, and it just makes Beca want to wrap her up and never let her go.

Of course, both of them would enjoy that immensely, but right now, they're standing on someone else's doorstep, so an eternal hug isn't really practical at the moment.

Distracting them from their doe-eyed moment, the door opens. A tall, tense-looking blonde answers with something like a welcoming smile that comes across as more of a grimace. Her green eyes are tight with something between anxiety and weariness and exasperation, and it's evident when she walks straight into Chloe that she isn't at all aware of their presence. Stooping down and apologizing profusely, though with a distinctly harried expression, she simultaneously attempts to hug Beca in greeting and help Chloe, who is sitting with her legs straight out in front of her, to her feet.

" . . . So sorry, I really didn't see you . . . Becs, I missed you; you haven't been over in forever! I was just heading . . . sorry, hun, just grab my arm . . . how have you been, Little Bit? Sorry, I realize that we haven't formally . . . I just got a call that . . . sorry . . ." Chloe doesn't know whether to laugh or try to soothe the agitated blonde. Her anxiety would be amusing if it weren't so painful to watch the chaotic emotions dancing in her expression. Instinctively, she falls back on her natural reaction to stressed people – a blinding smile.

"Don't worry!" she chirps, hopping to her feet in a movement far too energetic to be called a jump. She winces half a second later, the sudden movement reminding her of the ache in her ass. It's not an entirely painful recognition, however, as it serves to remind her of the events of several nights previously, the first night she spent alone with Beca. The blonde notices her wince, and her lips quirk in something that could be called a smirk if it weren't so obviously pained.

"I'm sorry," the apology is repeated, though in a calmer tone than before. "I honestly didn't see you there. I hope that you're all right?" Chloe nods with a grip on Beca's arm. Beca pretends not to swoon a little at the feeling of hot fingertips pressing firmly into her skin.

"I'm fine; don't worry about it," she reassures. "I bounce right back." She thinks she hears Beca mutter something along the lines of _you bounce everywhere,_ but at the moment, she's focused on making sure that the lines of worry ease a little in the blonde's face, so she can't be sure. Of course, it's the only sort of circumstance in which she won't be certain of something that her companion does – her mind and body are entirely tuned to Beca, now more than ever after falling so deeply into submission; she can't conceive of not being hyperaware every moment of the brunette beauty. She's always been an exceedingly empathetic person, so it makes sense that the only energy she doesn't devote to Beca gets devoted to ensuring other people's general happiness. Then again, she supposes, maybe that's why she and Beca connect so well – they both have a _thing_ , albeit very different ones, for taking care of other people.

"I can see that," the blonde comments, before seeming to realize that she was in the middle of something and shaking herself to rearrange her thoughts. "Sorry, I'm a little stressed at the moment," she says needlessly. "I forgot myself. I'm Aubrey Posen." Chloe nods and returns the proffered handshake.

"Chloe Beale." Aubrey cracks a distracted smile.

"So _you're_ the Chloe I've heard so much about," she says mysteriously. Beside her, Beca folds her arms, removing them from where they've been absently checking over Chloe for injuries.

"Because you've heard about so many other bubbly, highly attractive redheads that happen to share my house," she snarks back at Aubrey. The glance she gets in return is oddly tense. Beca notices; she drops her hands completely and eyes Aubrey with sudden concern.

"Bree? Where were you going?" she asks carefully, and suddenly, Aubrey's face loses all its color.

"I – got a phone call from the school." And just like that, Beca is also abruptly tense, stiffening at Chloe's side as her eyes narrow with worry.

"We'll come with you."

"You don't have – "

"We'll come with you," Beca repeats firmly, and though it's a tone that would make Chloe shrink herself as small as physically possible, Aubrey only deflates slightly before nodding.

"Fine. I'll meet you there," she agrees tersely, before rushing off down the steps. Then Chloe's being ushered back into the car, the door is slamming shut behind her, and Beca is taking off at the fastest legal speed possible, though they still move slowly enough that the back of Aubrey's Audi is disappearing around the corner by the time they're pulling onto the street. Chloe can barely even register their actions, having been maneuvered so swiftly and without warning. When her mind catches up, she finds that Beca has managed to strap her in, fold her jacket in her lap, and push her sunglasses back onto her nose for her – all without her notice. Realizing that, she fastens an astounded stare on the younger woman, and, not quite able to speak, waits for Beca to notice.

How she devotes any attention to sensing Chloe's stare when she's occupied with somewhat hazardous driving is a mystery, but it only takes Beca a moment to acknowledge her.

"We're driving to a private elementary school in the Upper East Side," she says in response to one of Chloe's many unspoken queries. "It's about a ten minute drive." Chloe nods; she doesn't mind proceeding slowly so long as she eventually understands.

"Why?" Beca's expression doesn't change as she keeps her eyes steadily fastened on the back of Aubrey's car, visible at least three hundred yards ahead.

"That answer's a little more complicated."

"Try me," Chloe presses, and Beca makes an edgy movement towards a smile.

"All right then," she grants, flicking on the blinker. "Aubrey was one of my closest friends in college, but she's actually a little older than you. She had a baby when she was my age; there's no father in the picture. The guy was a drunken hookup while she was trying to deal with the fact that she was gay and interested in the kind of lifestyle we're part of." Chloe nods again.

"So she has a kid."

"She does; a little boy. He'll turn five in February," Beca says. Chloe notes how she's being careful to keep her voice even, and angles her body a little in her seat to display her attentiveness.

"And?" Beca shoots her a small frown, as if, despite the fact that Chloe isn't presently wearing her collar, she can't help but exude a little dominant disapproval every once in a while.

"And what, Chloe?" she prompts. Chloe's expression doesn't waver other than a slight flash in her eyes.

"And?" she repeats, and Beca's eyes narrow a miniscule amount. Chloe is baiting her, probably because she's currently being left in the dark, and though Beca is patiently explaining the backstory to the situation, the redhead is a naturally eager, curious person, and waiting isn't exactly her specialty. However, since she's currently not collared, her response is exceptionally provocative, and regardless of whether she's a domme right now or not, Beca can't let that kind of behavior slide. It's hard to know where to draw the line at enforcing it, but respect is important for both sides of their relationship. She wants to remind Chloe to be respectful without overstepping boundaries in their non domme-sub relationship.

It's all right, though, at the moment; she doesn't need to be exceedingly emphatic in order to make her point.

"Chloe," she says quietly, but it's all she needs to say. A slight tremor runs through the woman beside her, whether a result of pleasure or anxiety at the thought of later punishment, it's difficult to tell. Chloe sits back with a chastised expression, and carefully rephrases her query.

"I mean that the fact that he's four or that he's Aubrey's son doesn't explain why we're speeding," she responds smoothly, with no inflection in her voice other than careful patience, but she sees the needle on the speedometer fall back slightly at her words. Beca's hands relax their grip on the steering wheel somewhat. Eyeing her companion with interest, Chloe's subconscious takes the opportunity to let her gaze rove over Beca's hands. They're small, delicate hands; her fingers are slender and agile, the hands of someone who pays meticulous attention to detail; the fingers of a DJ or an artist. Fingers that, only an hour ago, were buried deeply inside Chloe in Stacie's pristine, well-ordered kitchen.

Chloe shakes herself to dissipate the sudden bolt of heat that shoots through her at the thought. And realizes that Beca has noted her sudden lack of attention and is waiting for her to tune back in.

"Why are we going to his school?" she asks to indicate her renewed attentiveness. Beca shoots her a glance that's uncharacteristically difficult to read. It's some combination of wary, understanding, and lustful, and the latter part causes Chloe to instinctively squirm.

"They called Aubrey," is all Beca says, and Chloe takes the brevity of her response to mean that whatever is going on, it's Aubrey's story to tell. Understanding, she settles back in her seat.

"What's his name?" she asks after a moment's silence. Beca can't quite mask her surprise at the lack of probing on the subject, but she answers accordingly.

"Robbie." She watches as Chloe gives a contented nod and crosses her legs, giving no sign of further curiosity.

Five minutes later, they're pulling into the parking lot of a small, low building, where three harried-looking adults stand with their arms folded, clearly engaged in some sort of heavy consultation, while a fourth and fifth wrestle their way out the door of the building, accompanied by a small, squirming child. Aubrey is already out of her car and halfway to her son when Beca turns off the ignition, but the brunette is surprised when Chloe bolts out of her seat the moment the car comes to a halt. Hastily, she follows, uncertain of the redhead's intentions, and hurries to where Chloe has stopped a little ways away from the congregation of school officials, watching intently as the scene unfolds.

Aubrey takes hold of her son the moment she reaches him, evidently trying to pull him close, but he kicks and lashes out, making it difficult for her to get a good grip without being injured.

"Ms Posen," one of the officials calls over the sound of scuffling feet and Robbie's low, repetitive screams of frustration. "Ms Posen, we need you to sign the early withdrawal paperwork." Aubrey doesn't spare the woman a glance as she continues to grapple with her son, struggling to hold onto his wrists without hurting either of them in the process.

"I'm a little busy right now, Marie," she says tensely as Robbie lands a particularly hard kick to her shins.

"Ms Posen, early withdrawal ends at eleven AM. It's ten fifty-five; you have to sign the papers before eleven or the notation won't go through." The five adults, along with Beca, wince as Robbie lets out a piercing scream. Aubrey and Chloe barely even blink. "Ms Posen, if the notation doesn't go through, I'm afraid that there will be an additional fee of – "

"I don't give a damn about the notation, Jillian!" Aubrey hisses after Robbie's shoulder slams into her jaw. "My priority right now is calming my son."

"Ms Posen, I'm sorry, but the additional fee will make a significant dent in your – "

"Gerard, this isn't the time!" Aubrey all but snarls. _"Leave me to my son!"_

"I'll take him." Beca doesn't know how, with all the other noise, the quiet offer is heard at all, but one moment everyone is focused on Aubrey and her son, and the next, all eyes have turned to Chloe, who's standing off to the side with her eyes focused only on mother and child. Still fighting to keep ahold of her struggling little boy, Aubrey turns her head a fraction of a degree to stare at the ginger incredulously.

"You can't possibly control him; it's – "

"I'll take him," Chloe repeats, with no more insistence than before, but firmly nonetheless. "It's all right; I can hang onto him for a minute while you sign your paperwork." When Aubrey continues to gawk at her as those she has three heads, Chloe sighs, and steps closer to the struggling duo. "Look, I can handle him," she says seriously. "And even if I can't and he tries to run away, he won't make it farther than the sidewalk before any of the seven of you can stop him. Just let me try. It'll buy you a few seconds to sign your papers and avoid getting charged extra, and then you can take him right back. I won't grab him too tightly or let him hit his head against the pavement; I promise." Maybe it's something about Chloe's general aura, or perhaps the sincerity in her words is simply enough to convince the disbelieving blonde; either way, after studying her for a second, Aubrey nods silently and moves back while still retaining her grasp, waiting until Chloe is within kicking distance before releasing her hold on her wailing, thrashing son.

Immediately, Chloe is kneeling on the pavement, the chill of the slushy tarmac pressing into her skin through the knees of her jeans. One hand reaches up to unwrap her scarf while the other subtly stretches out to form a barrier around the little boy. The others look on with intense interest as she offers the scarf to Robbie and begins to speak in a slow, soothing voice.

"Hi Robbie," she starts, waving the fabric slowly in front of Robbie's eyes to get his attention. "Hey, handsome guy. What's going on today? I bet something made you really upset, huh?" Robbie continues letting out high-pitched grunts, but ceases to kick with the same vigor. Chloe keeps talking lowly, not removing her gaze from the little boy. "You want to know what I do when I'm upset?" she asks. "I like to look at the sky. Not at the sun, because it's too bright and can hurt your eyes, but at the colors. Sometimes it's cloudy, and I can look at all the shapes that the clouds make as they move. Or if it's bright blue, like today, I try to find a spot in it that's a little bit of a different color than the rest. Most people think that the sky is just one color all the way across, but you know what? It's never quite the same; it's usually lighter down at the edge by the trees, and a little bit darker right up above. Sometimes I try to see if I can find something nearby that matches that exact same color, and guess what? Today, I'm really lucky, because my scarf is the exact same color as the middle of the sky. Look, don't you think so? I think it's pretty special that we managed to find a color that's exactly the same." Robbie has stopped flailing, and his screams of frustration have died into heavy pants. His dark brown eyes are fastened raptly on Chloe's bright blue.

"Here, why don't you hold it?" Chloe suggests quietly, offering the scarf to him. "It's really soft, like a cat's fur. I know you have a cat at home; Sylvester, right? Stacie said that that's his name. I bet he's nice to pet, huh? You can pet this, if you'd like; it might feel a little bit like him. Go ahead; it's okay to touch it," she encourages, when Robbie looks hesitant. After a moment, he obeys, and almost immediately presses his cheek to it. A few seconds later, his lips spread in a tentative smile. Chloe doesn't tear her gaze from him when she speaks.

"Beca, could you please bring me my coat?" she requests softly. There's a shuffling of clothing, and the desired garment somehow makes its way into her hands. Gently, she wraps it around the little boy's shoulders. "There; we wouldn't want you to get cold, would we?" she says sweetly, still not removing her eyes from his face. "When I get cold, I usually find that it's hard to pay attention to things like the sky because I'm too busy trying to stay warm. Being warm is nice, huh?" Robbie doesn't nod, but he nuzzles deeper into the material of the scarf, and the soothed expression on his face is enough to let Chloe know that she's done her job.

She straightens up to find the seven other adults staring at her, shocked. "What?"

"I . . . you . . ." Aubrey stammers, unable to articulate her astonishment. "That was . . ."

"Unprecedented, I know," Beca supplies, her eyes on Chloe. "Let's talk back at the house, because as Chloe so aptly pointed out, it's freezing out here, and between the two of us, we have two very cold-intolerant people to take care of." Aubrey mumbles an acknowledgment, and there's a shuffling of paper. Chloe looks at Beca doubtfully.

"Becs, he's just calmed down; maybe we should – " she starts, but Beca cuts across her.

"That may be, but it's thirty degrees out," she says firmly. "We're going back to the house, and then we can talk." Chloe opens her mouth to protest, but just then, a whimper issues from Robbie, who is now hugging the redhead's coat closer to his body. The sight of it immediately stirs up sympathy within her, and she obediently shuts her mouth. Aubrey steps forward to lead Robbie to her car, and both Chloe and Beca wait until she's gotten him safely strapped into his carseat before stepping into the Mercedes and departing for the blonde's house.

When they arrive twenty minutes later, they're greeted by Stacie slipping and sliding at a run down the icy front walk, her features contorted with a kind of desperate worry that Chloe has never seen her express. As soon as both cars have stopped, the tall brunette is wrenching open the back door and unbuckling Robbie from his booster seat. Chloe and Beca, standing huddled together against the cold, watch the little boy reaching out for her with an unintelligible cry. Stacie hefts him up into her arms and snuggles him close, tucking his blonde head beneath her chin as she murmurs something lighthearted and soothing.

Chloe watches curiously, a stranger to this new, motherly side of her friend. Beca, an arm snaked around her waist, seems to sense her wonder.

"Bree and Stace have been together a little over three years," the brunette murmurs, her eyes on the little family. Aubrey has joined her girlfriend and son, and is docily, Chloe notes curiously, permitting the former to fuss over both of them. "Stacie's the only other parent he's ever known. Bree was afraid when she had him that it would keep her from ever finding someone, but Stacie's always been wonderful. From the beginning, she's always treated Robbie like her own son, and he's always known her as his Mommy. And she's so good to Aubrey; she's the best thing that could have ever happened to them." Chloe catches the unintentional double meaning in her last sentence, and turns to Beca with her eyes narrowed curiously.

"Isn't she . . .?" she starts, and Beca instantly catches on.

"I said she's a switch," she explains, eyebrows raised pointedly. "But really, they both are – Aubrey only for her, of course; otherwise, she's a domme through and through. They trade off depending on each other's needs. Aubrey's an excellent domme, but Stacie's been at it longer, so their role really depends on their mood." Chloe listens, fascinated. She's well aware that most people, even if they lean heavily towards one role, have a bit of both in them; often the imbalance settles into two parts: daily life and the lifestyle.

Beca, for example, is only a domme when it comes to participating in the community, but when she's just _Beca_ , she's more docile and slightly more susceptible to suggestion. She, Chloe, knows that in regular life, she might be considered the more dominant one in their relationship despite her extreme submissiveness. However, with her, it's not a severe switch. Trying to imagine the logistics of Aubrey and Stacie's relationship is something that she simply cannot manage.

Though fascinated, she stops trying and focuses instead on Beca's words. Something occurs to her, and she turns to the brunette with a frown.

"How old is Stacie?" Beca looks slightly taken aback; apparently the question isn't one she was anticipating.

"My age," she says slowly. She sends Chloe a quizzical look. Chloe bites her lip in thought, and Beca's expression clears when she sees her contemplative look. "We started at the same time, Chloe," she says knowingly. "But her half of the story isn't mine to tell. You'll hear it eventually." The answer doesn't do anything at all to satisfy Chloe's curiosity, but hearing the finality in Beca's tone, she nods politely. Beca won't tell her now; to dwell on the matter is pointless.

Pushing the subject from her mind, she returns her attention to Stacie, who is now guiding her family up the walk with Robbie clinging to her neck and a steadying arm around Aubrey's waist. She and Beca follow the trio up to the house, all with the unspoken agreement that it's time to get out of the cold. They settle in the living room on the various couches, Stacie vacating the room briefly to procure a sweater for Robbie, who is shivering. Chloe, settled back into Beca's arms, takes advantage of the brief quiet to cast her gaze curiously around the house. It's not as large as Beca's, but still comfortably spacious, filled with mismatched furniture and photographs and shelves upon shelves of well-worn novels. It has a distinct air of being lived-in, and it's immediately evident to Chloe that despite the fact that Stacie spends a great deal of her weekdays at Beca's house, this is where the brunette has made her home – with Aubrey and her son.

It's almost apparent that the three other women are anticipating a discussion. When Stacie returns, she settles against Aubrey and takes Robbie, who is now clad in monkey pajamas, into her arms. He snuggles against her immediately, and also makes a point of unbuttoning the top few buttons of her shirt so that he can lie directly against her chest. Stacie doesn't look at all perturbed at this, and it's only when she catches Chloe watching her quizzically that she offers any explanation.

"He likes skin-to-skin contact," she says simply as Robbie presses his face into the base of her throat. "It always calms him down when he's upset." Chloe nods, and Aubrey seizes the opportunity to kickstart the waiting conversation.

"I'm sure you have questions," she begins, with a resigned sort of look in her eyes, and Chloe immediately shakes her head.

"Actually, no," she counters. Aubrey's eyebrows fly upwards, but she waits for the redhead to continue. "You don't have to explain anything to me. The only questions I might have are things like what his favorite movie is or what kind of animal he likes." Aubrey's expression betrays total astonishment.

"But – don't you want to know what's – why he's – " she tries. She can't seem to find the words to express her utter bewilderment at this most unexpected turn of events. Chloe shrugs.

"I'm sure I can guess, but I don't need to know," she says simply. "He's just Robbie. That's all I need to know."

"What do you think is wrong with him?" the blonde fires back, almost challengingly.

"Bree," Stacie murmurs, but Aubrey ignores her, staring hard at Chloe as she awaits an answer. Chloe steadily holds her gaze, careful to keep her voice calm as she responds; she's not sure why Aubrey feels like she has something to prove.

"To be clear, I don't think that there's anything wrong with him," she says quietly. "Whatever it is, he isn't wrong." Aubrey huffs out a breathy noise that sounds a lot like indignation.

"Fine, then. What do you think – "

"Autism," Chloe cuts in smoothly, paying no mind to the irate frown that overtakes Aubrey's angular features at being interrupted. "Non-verbal; low to moderate functionality. Frequent meltdowns but limited stimming. Triggers probably include vibrant color schemes, bright lights, and rapid movement." Aubrey gapes at her in amazement.

"How did you – "

"I worked as a speech therapist right out of college, and with special needs groups in local public schools during college. Plus, I have an Autistic cousin who I spent most of high school babysitting and working with intensively." Aubrey looks a little disgruntled at having been interrupted a second time, but Stacie, stroking a hand through Robbie's messy hair, seems positively ecstatic.

"So you know how to work with kids like him!" she exclaims excitedly. Chloe offers her a bright smile that practically warms the entire room.

"I do; I've done a lot of close work with my cousin and the kids during college," she confirms. Stacie can't lean forward with Robbie still on her chest, but she manages to convey her eagerness all the same.

"Could you help him? As a kind of one-to-one? We wouldn't be able to pay you much, but . . ." Chloe beams at her while simultaneously shaking her head; across from her, Aubrey's expression is harboring an amount of emotions that makes deciphering it impossible.

"Of course I could! I've been looking for something to do with my time – you and Becs work, so I've had to entertain myself, mostly. I would love to work with kids again. And you don't have to pay me anything. You're my friends; it wouldn't be right," she says seriously. Aubrey appears to soften a little at the mention of the word "friends," but she retains something of her previous conflicted expression. It changes even more when Stacie turns in her arms with wide, eager eyes.

"Did you hear that, Bree?" she asks ecstatically. "He would do so much better with a one-to-one! That school does him no good; he'd be so much more relaxed not having to deal with the other kids all day." Aubrey's face is unreadable, but she manages a jerky nod.

Soon after that, the conversation takes another turn when Stacie subtly mentions going _shopping_ – Chloe knows better than to assume that she means groceries – and Beca eagerly brings up the prospect of making the trip with a visitor to town, someone she refers to as _Uncle Rick._ The general response is enthusiastic, even on Aubrey's part, and it immediately piques Chloe's interest.

"Who's Uncle Rick?" she inquires, and immediately, Stacie and Aubrey turn to her with surprise, though both are careful not to dislodge Robbie, who has long since fallen asleep.

"You mean you haven't told her about him yet?" Aubrey demands of Beca, and the brunette shrugs – an odd display of uncertainty that Chloe has only seen her display once or twice before.

" _Beca!"_ Stacie's tone is astonished. "He's only the reason we're sitting here right now; you didn't see that important enough to mention?" Beca grimaces at her with another upward lift of her left shoulder.

"I – I didn't know if you would want me to tell your . . ."

"Oh no," Aubrey reproaches as she trails off. "No, we're doing this now, never mind what you didn't know. Stop trying to be so _noble_ , Beca; Stacie's told you a thousand times that she doesn't care who knows."

"Sorry, but I'm kind of lost here," Chloe interjects, prompting all three women to turn their attention to her. Aubrey makes a sort of flapping gesture at Beca, reminding Chloe of a frantic bird trying to achieve lift. Beca sighs, and a moment later, she's scooting forward on the couch, clambering over Chloe's lap so that she can make eye contact with the redhead.

"Fine," she grunts petulantly, and shifts her focus to the girl who's watching her with a kind of apprehensive curiosity. Something's telling Chloe that she might not want to hear some of what's about to be said. "Until the age of nine, I grew up with no dad and a mom whose parenting was totally half-assed. Ninety-percent of the time, she wasn't home, and when she was, she was so drunk that I practically raised myself. Then when I was eight, she married a total prick. He wasn't an awful guy, but he didn't have shit for brains and acted like he'd never seen a kid before, so having him around didn't do me any good. I stuck around long enough to decide that he wasn't worth a rat's ass either, and then, the day after my ninth birthday, I ran away from home." Seeing Chloe's shocked expression, Beca paused and was quick to appease her astonishment. "Don't worry – I was bitter about it for a really long time, but then college happened, I grew up a little, and I learned to live with it. Now I've got a life I enjoy and couldn't care less about something that happened so long ago, so there's no baggage hanging around it, okay?" The look she gives is significant enough to reduce Chloe's shock enough to permit her to nod.

"Okay," she says simply, and Beca offers her a quirk of a smile before continuing.

"When I was little, the only family member who had ever come to visit was my Uncle Rick," she says. "I'd only met him once or twice, but he stuck in my mind as a decent guy, so I headed straight to his house. Sure enough, when I explained why I'd left, he took me right in." She pauses again, shooting Stacie a warm look that the taller brunette immediately returns.

"He was a good guy; not the world's best dad by any means, but he gave me headphones and a bed and taught me how to avoid getting roughed up by the kids at school, so by my standards, he was pretty damn great. I realized pretty early on that I was gay, and he was great about that, too – told me that I was a good kid and not to let anybody kick me around too much about it. He wasn't great at knowing what was age appropriate, though. I knew he was into some kinky things – he would always have people over, and I would see them leave with marks, though he was always careful not to let me see or hear what was happening. When I was sixteen, someone at school brought up that they would be into that, and I started thinking. When I got home, I asked him about BDSM, and he explained everything he did and why. It didn't take me long to decide that I wanted something similar, and when I told him that, he said that if I was really into it, to go ahead, and if I ever had questions, he would tell me what I wanted to know." She takes a deep breath and glances again towards Stacie, who nods encouragingly.

"Stacie and I went to the same school; she's who brought it up and got me thinking about what I wanted. I mentioned it to her, and after that, we kind of learned the ropes together. Not _together_ together," she's careful to emphasize when Chloe's eyebrows shoot upwards. "We never did anything together; we just did a lot of discussing and helped each other out whenever we ran into problems with the people we were actually with. Rick was great – we didn't talk to him a whole lot about it, but when we did, he always made sure to emphasize the importance of putting our partner first. If we can call ourselves good dommes, it's due in a large part to his guidance. We haven't seen him much since we left high school, but we've kept in touch, and occasionally he comes up here to visit. We love him, and our friends are on good terms with him, so if he's going to come up soon, we'll probably all get together. If you'd like, you can meet him," she adds with a nod to Chloe. "He's a great guy for conversation, even about other things – he's self-educated, but he knows something about everything."

After such a detailed explanation, Chloe feels the need to respond with something sincere and profound, but with the information overload, the best she can manage is a nod and confirmation that yes, she would love to meet the man who clearly means so much to the woman who is beginning to be so important to her.

With the story out of the way, it's after another half hour of lighthearted conversation that Beca and Chloe depart with promises to get together again soon and a threatening reminder for Stacie to _remove your clothes from the living room or I'll set them all on fire_ , issued by a petulant Beca as Chloe guides her out. The moment that the door shuts behind them, Aubrey and Stacie turn to each other at the same time and open their mouths, ready to discuss the issue that Chloe brought up an hour previously that for the two of them has eclipsed all other thoughts. They laugh at the identicalness of their movements, but after their giggles have faded away, their postures settle stiffly, businesslike.

"Bree."

"Babe."

"I think it's a good idea."

"I know you do. I just don't know what _I_ think," Aubrey counters, a little peevishly. Stacie immediately sees through the petulance in her tone, able to read it as a mask for her actual opinion. Her eyes soften; she lets out a sigh.

"Why are you so against this?" she asks gently, and when Aubrey give their son a quick glance and begins to cry, she moves immediately to wrap an arm around her and pull her close. "Bree, sweetheart, tell me what's wrong," she croons, combing her fingers through the older woman's ponytail. "Do you not trust Chloe?" The question isn't accusatory at all; if anything, it's understanding, as though Stacie knows of her usual reservations with near strangers and is anticipating a familiar response.

Sniffling into the brunette's shoulder, Aubrey shakes her head.

"No, it's not that; I'm sure she's fantastic," she weeps haltingly. "It's just that . . . I don't know, Stace. He's in a regular school right now, and I just feel like . . . taking him out will make him more different than he already is." Her body shakes with anxiety and tears. Stacie, eyebrows knitted in sympathy, snakes a hand beneath her shirt and strokes along quivering shoulder blades.

"Bree," she begins with a sigh, and Aubrey seems to hear the impending logic in her tone, because she lifts her head slightly to indicate that she's listening. At the action, Stacie has to smile; logic has always been her girlfriend's saving grace – at least, she likes to think, until she came along. It's a plus that she can provide logic herself while also smothering her girlfriend with affection. So far, this combination has seemed to work best when it comes to soothing the high-strung blonde. "Bree, he's not happy in school; you know that," she says. "This is what – the tenth time he's been sent home this month? He doesn't fit in with the other kids there already, Bree; taking him out would change that. Lots of kids are homeschooled and do just fine, and one-on-one attention is exactly what he needs. Forcing him to socialize with kids who don't understand him isn't helping him at all." Aubrey lets out another sob and buries her face next to her son's in Stacie's chest.

"I'm a horrible mother," she sobs into heated skin, and instantly, Stacie is gripping her chin and forcing her head upwards. Their eyes meet, wet emerald gazing plaintively into loving jade. Stacie shakes her head.

"First of all, I know my boobs are comfy, but they're really not great when you're crying and trying to breathe," she begins teasingly. Aubrey gives a teary, wan attempt at a smile. "And second of all, if I ever hear those words from you again Aubrey Jean Posen, I might have to reconsider how amazing I think you are."

Aubrey's eyes tear up again as she murmurs dazedly, "You think I'm amazing?" Stacie's answering smile is warm and true.

"I think you're spectacular," she responds without batting an eye. "I adore you, Bree; you know that." Aubrey lurches upwards to plant a brief but firm kiss on her lips.

"Really?" Stacie actually rolls her eyes at that despite knowing of Aubrey's need for confirmation of her affection (she doesn't understand why that's something that she needs; Stacie's pretty damn sure that despite the fact that she's not _Chloe_ , who exudes love with every action, she's fairly open and frank in her love for Aubrey. Aubrey, who loves passionately and reservedly all at once, yet seems to doubt that others can do the same).

"I do," she confirms with a firm answering kiss. "You're the best mother he could possibly have." This time when Aubrey glances down, she doesn't burst into tears; she only smiles fondly at the sight of their little boy cuddled against the bare warmth of his mother's chest. Her smile is crooked when she looks back up at her girlfriend.

"I don't think so," she counters. Stacie frowns.

"How so?" she questions lightly, pulling the blonde closer with a tug to the collar of her shirt. Aubrey presses another kiss to her cheek, and allowing her smile to broaden, tucks her forehead against Stacie's collarbone.

"He has you," is all she says, but it's enough to make Stacie's eyes well up in their turn. For several minutes after, neither of them speak, choosing instead to exchange soft kisses when they're not gazing fondly at Robbie, sound asleep on Stacie's chest.

"Let's put our boy to bed," the brunette suggests many minutes later, breaking the comfortable silence. Aubrey quietly agrees, and together they move from the couch down the hallway lined with scattered toys. They settle the sleeping boy beneath his train-printed duvet and take turns pressing kisses to his forehead; straightening back up, Stacie surveys her sleeping son. He looks peaceful, undisturbed by his usual torments. It makes her heart twinge.

"I love you, Bree," she whispers into the quiet of the room. A shy smile, one sweeter than is ever seen beyond the safety of their bedrooms doors, floats to her in response.

"I love you too, Stace."

* * *

The past two hours have been spent intensively; upon returning home, Beca had felt the need to reward Chloe for the action she took with Robbie. The redhead has consequently been pushed to accept what feels like the maximum amount of pleasure her body can possibly handle. Her muscles tremble with exhaustion, and her whole body aches.

When her gasps have ceased and her body is no longer vibrating, Beca unhooks her wrist cuffs and places a steadying hand beneath her arched spine.

"Move slowly," she warns. "I don't want you to fall." The redhead obeys, leaning heavily on the supporting hand as she struggles to lift her head. Her taut abs tremble with exertion when she tries to sit up from where she's been arched backwards over the bench. Twice, she attempts to rise, but falls back, chest heaving. Beca notes her growing distress at her inability to get up and swiftly moves to help her.

Once she's unhooked, Beca pulls her back into her arms. The sensation of the domme's chest pressing against her bare skin causes another bolt of arousal to shoot through Chloe, but she's much to exhausted to do anything more than groan quietly. Beca smiles against her hair.

"I'm going to help you stand up," she says softly. Chloe's body trembles involuntarily at the feeling of Beca's lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Hold onto me; your blood pressure's going to be low." When she moves them, Chloe obeys, and is grateful for the support when the sudden head rush causes her to stumble. Her knees weaken; Beca wraps an arm firmly around her waist to hold her up.

"Thank you, Mistress," Chloe mumbles, and Beca smiles.

"You're welcome, my love," she replies quietly. Together, once Chloe has gained her footing, they walk slowly across the room, Chloe leaning heavily on the smaller woman for support. Once in the bathroom, Beca helps her to the padded bench in the corner before moving about the room to fuss with various items and draw a hot bath. Chloe grips the water bottle she's been offered, aware of its purpose but not drinking. She's wrapped up in thought, though not yet able to articulate it, and decides to speak to see if it starts the ball rolling.

"Mistress?" Beca halts what she's doing immediately and is standing before her submissive in an instant. Chloe's eyes are closed.

"What is it, Chloe?" In answer, the redhead makes a show of fumbling with the cap to the water bottle.

"Could you . . . I can't . . . I mean, please, Mistress, could you . . .?" Beca pulls the bottle from her hands and unscrews it, handing it back to the shaky submissive.

"Are you cold, pet?" she asks, and Chloe nods. "Let's get you into that bath then," Beca decides, and helps her gently to her feet. She's divested herself of her clothing, leaving them both completely bare, and immediately, Chloe presses into her, enjoying the feeling of her Mistress's warm skin against her own. A soft kiss is pressed to the top of her head, and she opens her eyes gaze at the domme adoringly. As she watches Beca watch her, however, she's reminded of why she was spacing out a moment ago, and her eyes clear abruptly.

"Mistress?" Beca takes a step back to eye her submissive with complete attention.

"What is it, pet?" Chloe sucks her lower lip between her teeth in contemplation; she's not sure how to expression exactly what she's feeling. It's a bit of an itch, though more of an ache, and despite the fact that she spent the past half hour strung over a chair, she's fairly certain that it isn't from just that. Uncertain, she shifts her legs – which worsens the feeling, giving her a clue as to what it is – and dares to flutter her eyes quickly up at Beca and then, almost as rapidly, right back down. The heavy, solid look in her domme's eyes makes her squirm and simultaneously feel the need to sink to her knees on the bathroom floor, and she starts to understand what she wants.

"I'm not ready to be done yet," she blurts out in a rush, and one of Beca's eyebrows lifts in question. "Submitting, I mean. Tonight. I'd like to continue." Beca's other eyebrow joins the first. After a moment of incredulity, she shakes her head.

"Chloe, you're exhausted," she begins as if explaining to a petulant toddler. "Your body's weak, and you're – "

"It's not," Chloe interrupts, and blinks rapidly with a short yelp when Beca immediately lands a smack across the backs of her hands in retaliation.

"I believe I hadn't finished speaking," she says coldly. The look in her eyes would usually make Chloe shrink back, but oddly, it only serves to heighten her insistence.

"I'm not tired, Mistress," she says firmly, and Beca moves into her space, and _keeps_ moving, so that she's forced to back up against the wall with Beca barely millimeters from her face. They've both stripped off their shoes, so she's taller right now, and that knowledge causes her stubbornness to build. "I said I want to keep going." Her voice is surprisingly determined; Beca's eyes narrow at the tone.

"And I said you're too tired," she responds in a low, dangerous voice. "I will _not_ let you wear yourself out." Chloe nearly stamps her foot in frustration; the urge is childish, but strong, and she barely restrains herself. She's not certain where her irritation is coming from; she just knows that she wants to keep going, something that never, _ever_ happened before with Mark. Beca's being infuriating, and clearly doesn't understand, and _God_ she wants to stamp her foot.

"I _want_ to."

 _"_ _No."_

"You don't know what I need!"

"It's my _job_ to know what you need!" Beca's voice is hard, her eyes steely, and seeing that the brunette's resolve is just unwavering as her own, Chloe resorts to a method of persuasion that she knows instinctively will work like no other.

"Then you're not doing a very _good_ job, _Beca_ , because you clearly can't tell that I _need this right now!"_ she spits. There's a blur of brown and auburn hair, a soft shriek, and then her back is slamming into the bathroom tiles, not hard enough to harm her, but hard enough to send a very clear message that she's crossed a line. Beca is on top of her, pinning her down, a leg twined around hers, her wrists smashed together under the shorter woman's chest. Beca's forearm is at her throat, pressing down just enough to keep her from rising up to nip the way that she seems to know Chloe is wanting to.

"I didn't think you were one I would have to teach about respect," Beca growls, her teeth inches from Chloe's ear. "Clearly, I was wrong, and if you think you're going to get away with what you just said, I'm not the only one who's mistaken. I told you that you would be punished if you talked back; you are going to be _very_ _sorry_." Her tone, cold and furious, makes a shiver rise and scuttle along Chloe's spine, but she can't help the words that escape her mouth in response.

"Maybe not, _Mistress_ ," she taunts through restricted vocal chords. "I thought you said I was _too_ _tired._ Are you sure I'm up to it tonight?" Beca lets loose a dangerous growl and tugs red hair so hard that Chloe is lifted from the floor with a gasp. Her blue eyes are burning, dark and powerful, and it incites a sudden, striking desire in Chloe that races through her veins like wildfire.

"If you have enough strength to mock me, you have enough strength to take a lashing," is her Mistress's snarled response; Chloe shivers again. She barely has time to feel dread at the recognition of Beca's words before she's being yanked abruptly to her feet. She trips, and makes the mistake of smiling slightly when she notices the half-second Beca devotes to making sure she doesn't fall. "I wouldn't be smiling if I were you, my pet," Beca warns quietly, and she quickly wipes the expression from her face.

Stumbling, she's dragged back into the bedroom; Beca jerks her over to the wall and clips her wrist cuffs to the rings, making her face the wall, and unceremoniously kicks her legs apart. Chloe doesn't even have time to cringe before the flogger makes hard contact with her back.

 _"_ _Ah!"_ She can't help yelping in surprise, but Beca offers her no reprieve before the second lash falls, or the third, and she tries to jerk away, but the clips attached to her cuffs make it impossible. The only direction she can move in is closer to the wall, and with the way she's twisting and squirming, she's afraid that she'll slam her head.

As though she's read her thoughts, Beca brings up her free hand to fist into the hair at the nape of Chloe's neck, pulling until her head falls back, though she's careful not to injure her submissive's neck. Chloe's grateful for the stability as the fourth and fifth lashes fall, but then it's stinging, _hard,_ and it's nowhere near painful enough to make her request a reprieve, but when it continues at the same speed and intensity, tears fight their way out and begin rolling down her cheeks. Eleven, and she's spitting them out of her mouth, and by seventeen she's sobbing shamelessly, her entire body spasming with the smart of each blow, her tender skin on fire. The burn of her back mingles with the sting of saltwater on her skin, and then sobbing is no longer a potent enough word to describe the violent heaving and shuddering of her lungs as she struggles to avoid further pain.

"Stay still," Beca snaps, landing a hard smack to her ass. "You're being punished, and your job right now is to submit. I will not permit you to be disrespectful. Submission means handing over complete control, and that involves trust; if you cannot accept my decisions, you have not placed your full faith in me, and that means that you cannot submit to me completely. You claim I don't know what you need – you can stand here, and I will show you how wrong you are until your legs no longer hold you up, and then I will _continue_ to give you what you need, and you will _respect my decision_. _Is that clear?"_ Chloe barely manages a whimpering nod; she can hardly feel through the pain of the whip snapping against her delicate skin again and again until she can feel the flesh burn hot and raw beneath it.

And though the appreciation of it is distant, it's _still there_ ; getting whipped until she's screaming herself hoarse still feels _good_ , and maybe she's crazy, but if she is, she's not regretting her decision to bait her Mistress.

When the count reaches twenty-seven, Beca flicks hard between her shoulder blades to get her attention.

"Have you learned anything yet?" she hisses, and Chloe coughs out something that is maybe intended to be words, but only comes out as a heavy groan. "That was for contradicting me, and using my name without permission," Beca snaps, and reaches up to unclip her hands. "Don't think you're done yet," she adds sharply, when Chloe lets out a relieved moan. "You still disrespected me, and that won't go unpunished." Chloe hardly has time to nod; Beca clips a leash to the O-ring in her collar and jerks her forward, back into the bathroom, and then there's a rushing of water and the sound of many small objects tumbling. She's got her eyes shut to keep more tears from escaping and burning her skin, so she doesn't try to see the source of the sound, but she finds out thirty seconds later when Beca picks her up and she's abruptly deposited in a tub brim-full of ice water.

When she shrieks in astonishment and instinctively attempts to climb out, Beca shoves her back down with a harsh _I don't think so_. It goes against Chloe's better instincts to fight her domme when she's in such a terrorizing mood, but at the same time, her animal impulses are kicking in, and she's not entirely certain which set of urges is going to triumph over the other. She knows for a fact that Beca won't let actual harm come to her, but that's a little hard to remember when she's submerged in subzero water. Plus, Beca's still going full blast, so she's not expecting a reprieve any time soon. Mentally, she tries to prepare herself for a drawn-out period of freezing torment, but as soon as she starts to bounce between acceptance and panic, Beca surprises her.

"Focus on your heartbeat." Chloe frowns through her mounting anxiety, her eyes still tightly shut against her tears. "Count the beats; try to calm yourself. If you're panicked, you won't be able to focus to learn your lesson," her Mistress explains, seeing her bewilderment. Chloe's still feeling irritated, not to mention a little frantic, but when she pauses to acknowledge it, she realizes that resentment isn't one of her current emotions; she got what she wanted. Beca gave in to her needs, and it's that thought more than her domme's words that calms her.

"Don't think you've won just because we continued," Beca says, almost as though Chloe has spoken aloud. "You're being punished, not rewarded. I'm not sure you understand how difficult it is to balance my desire to take you in every way imaginable with the need to do what's best for you. I don't think I can give you a relevant example, but just to give you an idea of the struggle . . ." Chloe gasps when one of her hands is pulled from the water and guided to hot skin. "Let's see you balance taking care of me with your need to get out of the water. Make me come, and I'll let you out, but until you do, I want you to feel the cold just as keenly as you would feel my touch." Her tone makes it clear to Chloe that she means what she says, and as she speaks, she drags the redhead's hand down until slender fingertips meet her core.

Chloe gasps at the feel of her, slick with want and impossibly warm, and instantly, she seeks out the heat, burying three fingers in her needy domme.

As she works to obey, she feels the passage of time slow. What feels to her like a swift pace begins to drag; individual seconds tick by unnoticed, but blend into eternal strings, until the passage of a single heartbeat feels like a thousand endless hours. In some corner of her mind, she's dimly aware of the gradual numbing of her extremities, but the feeling, like her consciousness, sinks into the background. The frigid water bites at the surface of her skin, but it's a distant prickle, tightly contrasted and yet oddly distant from the feeling of Beca, hot and tight around her fingers. She hears the domme's gasps grow into a crescendo, feels when her hand flies out to steady herself on the edge of the tub, but her awareness remains somehow absent, so that she hears but does not register the meaning. Her violent shivering may have steadied, or may be worse; she cannot tell. She has no concept of time. It's as though the icy water that laps around her limbs has spread upwards to her brain, numbing it along with her toes. Somewhere, somehow, she's distantly aware that she is continuing to sob.

She is hardly aware even of when Beca comes, after what feels to her like an eternity but may only have been a moment, of the way the domme shudders and clenches tightly around her fingers, and how her own heartbeat has slowed to a steady, even pace.

In the same moment that her fingers are withdrawn from the heavenly heat, strong arms encircle her body, and she's being pulled from the freezing water into the embrace that in such a short time has become so safe and familiar. Instantly, at the sensation of Beca's skin – feverishly hot against her own – she blocks out everything else. She doesn't register being patted hurriedly dry, or their relocation.

After a moment, the adrenaline hits her with the force of a bomb, threatening to obliterate everything else in her veins; in the sobbing, gasping rush of tingling, she clings to the body that holds her close and shivers uncontrollably. Every muscle in her body convulses violently as feeling comes rushing painfully back. The surface of her skin burns white-hot while her bones ache from the cold, and her entire body is stiff and sore. Beca holds her up, swaddling her in hot towels while she rubs her hands back to life and warms her cold lips with her own.

It takes her more than an hour to come to, and when she does, she discovers that they are in Beca's bed in her room beneath heated blankets, and that she has absolutely no knowledge of how they got there. Her collar has been removed, as have her wrist cuffs, though both she and Beca have remained naked. A hot water bottle is pressed to the small of her back, and they lie in a cocoon of blankets, but what warms her the most is Beca, who has spread herself on top of the shivering girl and rests on her with most of her weight.

It's another sharp reminder to Chloe of just how well the brunette knows her, because the heaviness right now, far from being overwhelming, is soothing to her; it makes her feel protected and enveloped in security and deeply cared for, and she knows that Beca knows. It's wonderful, in all honesty, and she knows deep down that the emotion is significant; whether simple comfort, or something much deeper, she isn't sure. She thinks, though, that she's beginning to suspect the involvement of something much more powerful and profound, and she feels distinctly that she's not the only one.

"Welcome back, sweetheart," Beca murmurs when she feels the redhead stirring. "How are you feeling?" Chloe finds nothing odd in the use of the term of endearment; they decided on their first night together to let their non domme-sub relationship grow in whatever manner feels natural, and so far, the decision has proved a wise one. Maybe a few years ago, when she was far less patient, she wouldn't have fared so well, but right now she is content to let their bond play out in whatever way it wants.

"How long was I in there?" she asks in response, and she feels Beca smile against her temple.

"Felt like ages, didn't it?" Chloe mumbles in agreement.

"How – "

"Forty-seven seconds, Chloe. That's all," Beca tells her, and Chloe has to take a minute to keep from reeling back in shock. It had felt like hours, an eternity at the least. She doesn't have it in her to puzzle out the nuances of the perception; she can only let out a noise of disbelief and burrow closer into Beca's skin. "Are you all right?" the brunette questions in return, and Chloe huffs out a quiet sound of confirmation, nodding against her neck. "I wouldn't have left you in there for much longer, you know," Beca adds reassuringly. "I will _never_ compromise your safety to make a point." Chloe presses her forehead against Beca's pulse point in answer, and breathes slowly, deeply.

"I know," she says quietly, and she does. She knows – she knew, even in her panic and discomfort when she was first submerged – that Beca would never, ever allow harm to come to her while in her care. It's completely instinctual knowledge, but when she considers it, she supposes it's a bit odd that two once-strangers are so perfectly tuned to each other. Then again, she decides, the same could be said of any connection – friends, spouses, lovers; they all start as strangers, don't they? It's the _choosing_ , the selection of one person out of so many to grow close to, that makes the distinction between strange and familiar.

It makes her think hard enough to recognize that if there's anything she wants, it's to make that distinction even sharper with Beca.

"Becs," she mumbles, and Beca pulls back half an inch to meet her eyes. They endure a nanosecond of contact, gazes flitting back and forth, and then Chloe's being kissed deeply, Beca's hand cradling her face close to her own. It's slow, easy and languid, yet still passionate, and it stirs something deep inside Chloe that would burst to life if she weren't completely and utterly exhausted. It's several minutes before they part, and when they do, heavy sapphire meet lazy grey, and they offer each other contented smiles.

The moment is slow and lazy, comfortable, and so Chloe surprises herself as well as Beca when the first words out of her mouth are, "Will you go on a date with me?"

For a moment, neither of them move, and Chloe, if she didn't know better, would be struck with the distinct impression of having made a mistake, but despite her own surprise, she doesn't falter. Instead, she waits patiently for Beca's response, which, when it comes, is the smile she instinctively knew it to be.

When Beca murmurs in response an elated, _"Of course I will,"_ she has to return the sentiment; she smiles broadly at the loving woman above her, who in turn offers an adoring smile, and then Beca's lips are capturing hers again, hand pressing to her chest directly above where her heart stutters and pounds, and all conscious thought vanishes as she slips into oblivion once more.


	6. Eager Young Hearts

**A/N: Hello, my lovelies! Look what I've got for you!**

 **First of all, I'm so unbelievably blown away by everybody's response to this; I seriously didn't expect it, but you guys are the absolute best. Hearing from every single one of you makes my day.**

 **I'm going to be working on updating my other fics in the next week or two, but don't worry about this getting neglected; I'm on it.**

 **A lot of you expressed shock at how Beca reacted to Chloe baiting her in the last complete chapter, and I know that might have been a little much for some of you, but that's only the beginning. Real relationships like this can get very intense, and I'm trying really hard to illustrate the reality of it. However, Beca isn't going to be an asshole about it, so never fear. :)  
**

 **I know it might seem like it coming up, but there won't be any Chacie/Mitchsen/Steca/Chaubrey, or anything else action. Though I'm totally not opposed to a bit of Bella Squared or Triple Treble fun, this is purely a Bechloe and Staubrey story.**

 **Without further ado, here's the next chapter. Enjoy, and let me know if you have any suggestions. :)**

 **Loves,**

 **Teddie**

* * *

Chloe twists and turns in front of the full-length mirror in what has become her bedroom, eyeing her outfit from all angles. She's decked out in a halter-top dress with a loose skirt that falls just above her knees and exactly matches her eyes. Despite her reassurances that she could do it herself, Stacie had helped her pick it out and had bought it for her, saying that she has more money than she knows how to spend, anyways, and that Beca's face when she sees her in it will more than pay her back.

The back of the dress is low-cut, a series of intertwining straps displaying strips of skin halfway down her back. Just at the spot where the fabric changes to a solid pattern, the tips of several dull red marks are visible, the only hint of the lashing she received yesterday.

Pausing to check that her earrings are still in place, Chloe gives herself a final once-over. She's spent the past hour and a half fussing and primping, an unusual action for her. She's never been the type to linger over her appearance, always knowing what she looks good in and being very adept at quickly putting herself together. Today, however, is different, and she's paid extra special attention to her appearance. They've split up the day between the two of them, one of them planning lunch, the other planning dinner, and both of them choosing a form of entertainment for before and after each.

Going out for the day is more ceremonial than anything else; no matter what they have and haven't voiced, they're both aware that their hope is to be together. They've already shown that they're more than compatible; they enjoy each other's company and keep each other stable, and though neither of them have said so out loud, they stir up feelings in each other that they weren't previously aware existed. Beca's voice, her touch, her presence, make Chloe feel something new and thrilling. She's comfortable with Beca, comfortable displaying immense trust and vulnerability, and she knows that Beca cherishes that; cherishes her. It's unbelievably special anyways, but having come from a relationship that was lacking in love, it holds the magic of something brand new and beautiful.

Chloe catches up her purse, and with a glance at the clock, hurries from the room.

She almost runs into Beca in the hallway, having expected to meet her in the coatroom. When she's done apologizing, she has a moment to actually take in the other woman's appearance, and when she does, her breath catches. Beca is wearing a short silver dress with a plunging neckline that somehow still manages to be partially modest; her silky hair is done elegantly, falling in soft curls over her bare shoulders. The material hugs her hips, clinging to her perfectly, and Chloe has to bite her tongue to keep from actually licking her lips.

"Hi," she murmurs bashfully. She can't really explain her sudden shyness – Chloe Beale is never shy, and especially not when it comes to dealing with relationships, but Beca looks absolutely stunning, and the sudden reminder that she's hers is about enough to do her in. She's actually going on a date with this gorgeous woman, this gorgeous woman who wants her, and it's a lot more to take in than she's prepared herself for.

Beca is quiet and demure when she casts aside her domme persona; she's sweet and chivalrous, but Chloe can't quite wipe from her mind the fact that the hands that flutter downwards to nervously smooth silvery material are the same hands that have held whips and blindfolds, and that the eyes that greet her so warmly have seen her laid bare and vulnerable.

Not that she's complaining.

"Hi," Beca responds, in a voice softer and sweeter than Chloe's ever heard spill from her lips. "You look lovely." The redhead takes a moment to contemplate it – the tenderness, the gentle hesitance, and figures that it's probably because for all their closeness, all their encounters, they've never been together like this; it's never been just been Chloe and Beca, together for the sake of being together. There's always been a purpose, whether it's rescuing one of them from a dark alley or learning each other as domme and submissive. They've never just been them.

Running her fingers through her hair, Chloe purses her lips thoughtfully.

"You think so?" Beca's eyes grow impossibly brighter; there's something soft behind her expression, something warm and light and unmistakably tender, and it's a moment before Chloe realizes that it's adoration.

"I know so; you're beautiful," the brunette confirms lowly, and Chloe impulsively flutters her eyelashes flirtatiously.

"You're pretty stunning, yourself," she replies. She's surprised a moment later when Beca lowers her eyes with a blush.

She manages to retort, "What, this old thing?" but there's a subtle tone of gratitude beneath her words. Seeing her obvious shyness, Chloe feels a tiny drop of her heart; Beca goes out of her way to compliment everyone, to tell Chloe she's beautiful every time they're together, but it almost seems as though no one has ever made a point of telling Beca how special she is. It's a little odd for Chloe, who's so often struck dumb by her wonderfulness that she often takes it for granted.

Realizing this, she begins to understand that maybe she's not the only one who's been a little bit neglected. No matter what their previous situations were, what they have now is a two-way street; Beca will always go out of her way to make her feel special, but Chloe realizes that it's time for her to do the same. Whether as the doting girlfriend or a sweet submissive, cherishing someone is her job, too.

"The dress is beautiful," she agrees. "But I was talking about you." At that, Beca's blush deepens, and Chloe is seized by the urge to move closer. She takes a step forward and reaches up to smooth her thumb over the curve of the brunette's cheek. Beca, without her domme heels, is shorter than she. "You're pretty damn gorgeous, Ms Mitchell." Then she leans down; Beca meets her halfway, and they're wrapped up in a passionate kiss. Beca's arms curl around her, clutching her shoulders, and Chloe can't withhold a tiny moan when her nails press into the marks on her back. Immediately, Beca steps back, and at the brunette's raised eyebrow, Chloe brushes her hair aside and turns around to display the reminder of her punishment.

She shivers at the sensation of Beca's slender fingertips dancing lightly over her sensitive skin. Beca inhales sharply, and a moment later, Chloe does the same as soft lips gently brush her skin. Fingertips press purposefully on the spot where the whip snapped a line into her flesh, and she whimpers and leans back into the touch. She feels something tighten hard low in her belly, stoking a fire she'd momentarily forgotten existed; it's deep and tight and strong, and it makes her gasp softly. When Beca spins her around to face her, she sees her own lust reflected in the brunette's darkened eyes.

"Think we're going to make it through the day without giving in?" Beca's voice is low and husky. Today they are equals, and she has no desire to change that, but seeing the reminders of Chloe's submission, of her control, makes her blood grow hot with lust. The image flashes through her mind of the redhead bound beneath her touch, crying out at every snap of the leather against her skin, and she fights to restrain a shiver. It's hard, even now, to push down the urge to take her in her arms and worship Chloe's soft skin until her body trembles with release.

She didn't harm her in the least – she didn't even break the skin – but she hurt her, and they fell asleep soon after, so she hasn't had the chance yet to make it up to her submissive. Chloe enjoys pain, and they both know that as long as no injury is inflicted, getting hurt is part of what she's signed up for; it's part of such a relationship. Even still, and even despite the fact that it was for a punishment, a balance is critical. Even if a sub were to misbehave constantly, punishment could not echo that consistency; as a submissive, Chloe hands over her soul for safekeeping, gives up everything to Beca, and that in itself deserves a reward. A domme-sub relationship can help to steady parts of their personalities, but broken down, it's for their shared enjoyment. Giving a submissive pleasure simply for the sake of making her feel good is something that Beca enjoys; she enjoys the intimacy it creates, the bond that it deepens.

With Chloe, that bond has already grown deep and lasting. It wasn't Beca's intention at all when she pulled her away from neglect in an alleyway, but it's happening, and she's choosing not to fight it. She's never formed a connection like this before; she used to be impervious to this kind of affection, but she's finding it difficult now. Because it's not just affection – it's reverence, devotion bordering on love, and though she may have been stony in the past, she's not going to argue with a gift like that.

"We'll make it through the day," Chloe says lightly. "But afterwards . . . we'll see who's giving in." Beca's eyes darken even more, if it's at all possible, at Chloe's words; at their husky timbre, and the promise her sparkling eyes hold. This time, she can't restrain a shiver, and Chloe allows herself a satisfied smirk before linking up their arms and guiding Beca to the door.

* * *

"And then I didn't speak to him for about a month afterwards," Chloe giggles, concluding her story of how her older brother dragged her kicking and screaming – literally – into the acapella world. Beca leans back in her chair with a noise of exhausted mirth, wiping tears from her eyes as she struggles not to fall mercy to another round of hysterics. They're sitting on the third floor in a combination coffee shop and bookstore with the center of the room open to the lower floors and massive windows taking up two walls. The place is strung with holiday lights and filled with funky paintings, a little upper scale but miraculously inexpensive considering the food selection, and they've already attracted their share of looks. Chloe's been trying not to think about what would happen if they showed up here decked out in their full role costumes – partially because it might make her laugh again, but mostly because she's afraid that if she considers it too much the idea will suddenly become unwisely appealing.

"He seriously kidnapped you?" Beca laughs, and Chloe nods, chuckling.

"He threw a bag right over my head and dragged me from my dorm hall," she confirms. "Which, to be fair, they do on hood night, but it was for auditions. I still think they only took me because Kev threatened to take me to the Acabelles instead, but he insists it was the screaming. Apparently they thought I had a good set of lungs." Beca pauses halfway through a laugh, a remarkable feat due to the smoothie she's trying to drink. After swallowing, she fastens Chloe with a heavily meaningful stare and quirks an eyebrow.

"Then they were right about one thing," she says suggestively, and Chloe's eyes widen reflexively. They stare at each other for a moment, frozen, before erupting again in a fit of uncontrollable giggles that causes the occupants of nearby tables to glare disapprovingly in their direction.

"No, but really," Chloe says after they've gained back a little bit of control. "I loved being a Yahtzee. They were the craziest bunch of people I'd ever met, but they were all fantastic. I'd love to get together with some of them again." At that, Beca's eyes sober a little, but she smiles.

"You should," she says seriously. Chloe plays absently with her coffee spoon, swirling whipped cream around; she noticed that Beca isn't asking her why she hasn't seen any of her former teammates since graduation. She knows that Beca knows why, and neither of them particularly feel like bringing it up today. They want to enjoy right now; there will be plenty of time for serious conversation later.

"Really?" she asks instead of the several hundred other responses that are swirling around in her brain, and Beca nods, leaning forward to convey her earnestness.

"Definitely. Unless they just took you because they didn't want the Acabelles to have you, I'm sure they would love to hear from you," she encourages. She's teasing, and her eyes are playful, but Chloe is momentarily lost in thought. She would like to contact her old college friends, if only for the fact that it would be good to gain back a little of her old life. She used to be a very different Chloe, and even if she's gotten some of her old self back in Beca's presence, she knows that encountering people she was close to before she met Mark could help considerably.

She resolves to do something about it, but not until tomorrow; this is her time with Beca, and from what she can tell so far, today – and especially tonight – is going to last a long time.

Seeming to sense her date's inner turmoil, Beca lays a hand over hers with a smile.

"Tell me about them?" she requests softly. Taking her words to heart, Chloe finds herself smiling broadly as she considers her old friends.

"Well, you already know about Kev and Rod," she grants. Beca inclines her head at the mention of the redhead's older twin brothers and takes a sip of her green tea smoothie, which is surprisingly good. "Nick – that's my oldest brother – graduated the year before I got there, and Paul went to George Mason with his girlfriend Melissa. They're married now," she adds when Beca quirks an eyebrow. "I know; my parents didn't think it was a great idea either. I guess it worked out fine for him, though."

"There you go," Beca says, tipping her glass in congratulations. "How about the rest of them?" Chloe thinks back to countless rehearsals, jam sessions, and ICCA competitions.

"I was closest to Valerie and Nora," she says contemplatively. "They were a year older, and they're the ones who got me into the Yahtzee house when I was still a freshman. I should've had to stay in a dorm for my first year, but a spot opened up suddenly and they managed to petition the dean to let me live in the house with the rest of them." Beca's eyes widen a little.

"You got to live in a house during your freshman year?" she asks incredulously. Chloe shrugs with a little smile.

"Yeah. It was great - I mean, it was drafty and the showers were old and the basement was totally haunted, but I got to live with people who had similar interests and I never had to deal with a roommate stealing my food or waking me up with their alarm, so it was a pretty great deal. I stayed there until I graduated," she finishes, leaning forward to take a bite of her coffee cake. The café is fun and eclectic with a funky assorted menu and obscure indie music trickling out of the speakers; it's exactly her speed, and she marvels that Beca managed to find such a place.

It's a while before they're done sampling the various foods at the bar in the corner and decide to browse the shelves. Chloe knows that they have plans to visit Astoria Market later in the afternoon, but for now she's content to peruse the endless bookshelves that wind their way around the three-story building. She's flipping through As I Lay Dying when it occurs to her that she's lost sight of Beca. Clutching the book, she wends her way through the stacks to the place she last saw her, and finds the tiny brunette absorbed in a book about, of all things, German poetry. She lays a hand gently on Beca's shoulder to let her know she's there, but Beca jumps about three feet in the air regardless of the care Chloe took not to startle her.

"Jesus!"

"It's Chloe, actually," Chloe counters with an impish grin. Beca rolls her eyes. "What've you got there?" Beca actually blushes, though only slightly, ducking her head to examine the book jacket with a little more attention than the dusty leather calls for. "Can I see?" she asks casually; she knows that if Beca realizes that she appears flustered, she'll become even more embarrassed. The brunette nods, and Chloe gently takes the book from her, opening it and beginning to flip through interestedly before stopping and looking up at her companion with her mouth hanging half-open. "This is all in German, Becs." Beca mumbles something unintelligible. "What was that?"

"I kind of speak it," she repeats, the words still barely audible. An eyebrow arches.

"Kind of?"

"Sort of."

"Fluently?"

"Yes." Chloe gapes. For a moment, she merely looks incredulous, and Beca appears relieved, as though perhaps Chloe is startled enough to refrain from asking questions, but then almost immediately, the redhead's expression solidifies and she holds out the book.

"Can you read something?" she requests. Taken aback, Beca blinks. Chloe's lips curl into a pout. "Please?" Beca opens her mouth, probably to refuse, but then she looks at Chloe, really looks, and sees the unrestrained eagerness and excitement in her bright blue eyes, and suddenly, any thought of denying the request is blown completely out the door.

"Sure," she agrees amiably, taking the book. It's Chloe's turn to look a little surprised, but the expression fades as Beca flips through to what's clearly a familiar page, coughs a little, and begins to read.

At first, her voice is small, tripping a little over each word; she glances up timidly every few lines to meet Chloe's eyes, the vaguest hint of anxiety in the lines around her mouth, but then suddenly, it's gone. Her voice sinks into smoothness, emphasis ebbing and flowing so naturally that Chloe's certain no one would be able to tell she hasn't been speaking the language her whole life. She watches Beca curiously, gaze tracing her features as though she can see the curve of her accent and dip of characterization. She watches as Beca's eyes glass over, focused on something in the little ink lines before her that only makes sense to her eyes; she hears the expression flow, warm and earnest, from Beca's lips, and can do nothing but look on in awe.

When Beca reaches the end of the poem, she takes a moment to readjust herself, blinking to bring herself back into the low hum of the shop. When she looks up, Chloe's eyes rise with hers to find that a small crowd has gathered to listen. Beca immediately goes slightly pink, eyes dropping back to the page as she unconsciously shifts a little into her own body, clearly a little uncomfortable with the attention.

"Would you read another?" inquires a young teenager softly. Beca starts to say no, but then the others in the crowd echo the request, and she looks helplessly to Chloe for support. Chloe nods, reaching out to gently thread their fingers together.

"Please, Becs," she asks quietly, and Beca closes her mouth.

"I . . . okay," she agrees. A quick smile goes around the little circle like the light from a comet's tail.

"That was beautiful, Becs," Chloe tells her a while later after the crowd has dispersed. Beca, who has read seven odd poems in the space of half an hour, merely shrugs.

"My Grandma was German," she says slowly. "She died when I was pretty young, but she was always sweet to me, and I always loved the German fairytales she would tell me when I visited her. One day I told her I wanted to learn, so she made a rule that we would only ever speak German in her house; never English. I learned to speak it almost fluently. Then she died, and my mom started slipping. I didn't speak it again for years, but when I got to high school, they were offering a class, and I took it to learn the little bit I didn't know. Now it's just as comfortable for me as English - maybe even a little more so because it always makes me remember her. She made me want to be a teacher because of it, and I probably would be if I hadn't gotten so into music."

Chloe is at a loss for words, surprised by Beca's sudden willingness to share such a personal piece of herself. She flounders for a minute, uncertain of how to respond - she feels like something equally deep and emotional would be appropriate, but doesn't quite know what to say - but is saved when she spies a girl, the same one who asked for Beca to read another poem, lingering awkwardly by the end of that row of shelves.

Beca notices immediately that her attention has been diverted, and seeing her gazing over her shoulder, turns around to see what's caught her interest. Noticing the girl, she smiles and gestures for her to come out from her hiding place.

"Hey there, sweetheart," she says kindly. "You don't have to hide over there. Did you need something?" With a visible gulp, the girl steps out from behind the shelf, and Chloe notices what earlier she had been too absorbed to see. The girl isn't quite as young as she thought, probably somewhere in her mid to late teens, but her scrawny figure and narrow bone structure make her look younger than she is. Her clothes are ratty and unsuitable for the winter weather; too-big jeans, tattered sneakers, and a sweatshirt that hangs off her lanky frame. Her short blonde hair looks unwashed.

"I just liked listening to you read," is the somewhat shaky response. "No one here speaks German, really. It's nice to hear." Chloe glances at Beca, who narrows her eyes for a moment before her features compose into understanding.

"Where are you from, Schätzchen?" she asks. The girl shifts her weight.

"Essen. We moved here five years ago," she says, her words a little jerky. It's apparent that she's nervous.

"Essen, huh?" says Beca. "Can I ask your name?" The girl twitches a little, but she continues to meet Beca's gaze. It's intriguing for Chloe to watch; for someone so cheery and outgoing, she's always been a little shy when meeting people, not to mention her submissive side, which tends to show itself occasionally around strangers. This young girl does not share her timidity.

"Luisa Alder," is the answer. "I'm seventeen." Chloe gets the distinct impression that if Beca weren't the height of Yoda, the brunette would be crouching down in an attempt to get on a friendly level with young Luisa. As it is, the German girl dwarfs her by at least a half a foot.

"Luisa," Beca says slowly. "We've got some time to kill. How would you like to sit for a bit and help me practice my German? I'm pretty good at reading but my conversational ability isn't so good anymore without anyone to speak it with. I'll pay you in apple turnovers. They're fantastic here; Chloe can't get enough and wants a fourth one, but the barista has been giving her some funny looks, so I'm sure she'd be thankful if we made her look less ridiculous by buying something else too." Beca's good at this, Chloe realizes; very good. It's obvious by the shakiness of Luisa's limbs and the way her collarbone juts out that she hasn't been getting enough to eat, but Chloe knows from experience that someone in need of that kind of help is unlikely to ask for it. Offering her a roundabout way of accepting sustenance and the comfort of speaking her native language - in public, where she's safe - is probably exactly what she needs.

Chloe knows she's right when Luisa nods, managing to keep her cool at the safe time that something in her posture relaxes with immense relief. She watches Beca accept the muttered expression of gratitude gracefully, and follows behind them a few paces as they meander over to a free table.

What she's observing intrigues her. Right now, though she's completely removed from every aspect of their lifestyle, Beca is displaying behavior that belongs to her domme persona. It's not related to the lifestyle; there is nothing remotely pertaining to BDSM in this situation, but the surety of her actions, the easy yet commanding undertones to her speech, and above all, her need to provide care for someone needy all speak of the side of her that Chloe first saw. Someone else might be jealous, but she knows there's nothing to be concerned about - there's nothing between Beca and Luisa, and in all honesty, all she feels at the moment is pride. Chloe is honored to be with someone so thoughtful and caring.

It's at least an hour later that Luisa finally announces, rather reluctantly, that she has to go. Beca mentions something about wanting to get more practice, and to that, Luisa beams, saying that she typically sticks around the shop on Saturday afternoons. It's determined that they will meet up again in a week's time, and after waving goodbye to the happy, significantly less hungry-looking girl, Chloe and Beca depart with their gloved hands entwined and step back into the winter air.

"Thank you for that," Chloe says softly after a few minutes of silence, during which Beca's eyes are narrowed contemplatively. "You handled that perfectly; I don't think I would have known how to help without making her uncomfortable." She almost expects Beca to react shyly to the praise, but instead, the brunette hums in agreement, glancing up at Chloe as they maneuver the crowded sidewalk.

"I've dealt with a lot of situations like that," she says thoughtfully. "It's kind of second nature. Sometimes it can be a little painful, but I can't not do it, you know? Not in good conscience." It's irrational, and a little bit silly, but her words give Chloe pause. She hates that her voice is small when she speaks again.

"Is it painful with me sometimes?" she asks, feeling her old insecurities rise up. Beca stops walking so swiftly that it nearly causes Chloe to pitch forward into the sidewalk because of their linked hands.

"Why would ask that?" she wants to know. Chloe feels her shoulders shift upwards uncomfortably.

"Well - you just said - I mean - " she stammers, but stops when Beca fixes her with a stare so incredulous that she swiftly closes her mouth.

"Chloe, what I mean by painful is that I hate that in most circumstances, I can only sit by and watch bad situations unfold while offering whatever pitiful support I can manage. Sitting there with that girl, knowing that she just ate what's probably going to be her only sure meal for a long time, can be pretty emotionally draining. Yes, I helped her a little, but a little help only goes so far. And before you say anything about me underrating what I do, please understand something about me," she says, seeing Chloe's mouth open and intercepting her before she can comment. Chloe shuts her mouth and nods, eyes still conflicted, but listening attentively.

"One of the things Uncle Rick taught Stacie and me - something that was absolutely right of him to teach us - was to give freedom to both sides of ourselves; to embrace and cultivate the aspects of the domme side of us instead of holding back because of fear that we'd overstep a boundary. Apologies can always be made, but standing by and doing nothing can sometimes hurt more than it can help. One of those aspects of us is that we are instinctively inclined to help people in any way we can. When that's applied to strangers, it has nothing to do with the lifestyle we live and everything to do with a need to keep people happy, and when they're having trouble doing that themselves, to guide them until they can. It's not a burden and it's not something we do unwillingly; it's just like the way that you would naturally give your seat on the subway to your grandmother. The train lurches and you sometimes fall into other people and have to be a little uncomfortable squished up against strangers, but you keep your balance and then you get off the train and it's all perfectly fine." When Beca concludes, Chloe finds herself convinced of one thing but doubting another. She believes that Beca isn't the least bit bothered by her need to dedicate time to other people, but -

"Is that what'll happen with me?" she forces out quietly. "You'll just get off the train, as you say?" Beca's patient expression transforms into one first of shock, then of something quiet that instantly makes Chloe wish she could retract her words.

"Are you actually asking me that?" she asks disbelievingly. Rapidly, sensing her mistake, Chloe shakes her head.

"No, no - no, Becs, I'm not; I'm sorry, I just - "

"You still worry sometimes. Mark made you doubt anyone's loyalty to you, and I understand that, Chlo, but do you honestly still think you have to worry about that with me? Do you think I'll just disappear one day without any explanation or goodbye?" Beca sounds incredulous, but also a little pained, like Chloe's lack of faith actually causes her physical pain.

(Come to think of it, it probably does.)

Chloe finds herself fumbling with her own gloved fingers and can't quite tell whether she wants to squeeze Beca's hand tighter or drop it from her grasp.

"No," she says after a moment. "I don't; not really. But it's still a little bit of an involuntary reaction, I think. I don't actually believe that you'll stop wanting me around, but it's kind of like a muscle memory, and I can't totally stop myself from trying to prepare for it. It's not nearly as bad as it used to be though; I used to actually think things like that, but I . . . you've started to make me think it isn't true." She feels a little raw after her confession, but Beca, angel that she is, actually smiles in response to her outpouring of emotion, and it instantly serves to make her feel better.

"I hope so," is Beca's sincere reply, followed by a sudden darkening of blue irises that makes Chloe's throat tighten abruptly and her heartbeat stutter. "Because it's going to be very hard to convince me to get rid of you this late into the game."

Then she's tilting her head upwards, standing up on her tiptoes to kiss her, and holy shit she's never been kissed like this. Chloe's not sure how she's still standing, because Beca's doing things with her tongue that would make anyone fall on their ass, and by the time the shorter girl pulls away, Chloe's panting so hard that she's actually worried about hyperventilating to death.

Beca's thunderhead eyes are burning.

"As much as I would love to take you home and continue you this," she says , clearly trying to reign herself in. "We still have plans for today, and I'd like to see them through." It's obvious by the look in her eyes that she's exerting a huge amount of self-control, and part of Chloe wants to tell her to just let it take over, but then she blinks once or twice and clears her head a little, and realizes that once again, Beca's right.

With a deep breath, she turns back in the direction they were walking in and nods using the most control she's displayed since she was still with Mark.

"Right," she breathes out. She sees Beca grinning at her out of the corner of her eye. "Let's go."

* * *

By three o'clock the next afternoon, when they haven't relented, Stacie is forced to intervene. She finds them recovering in the Beca's vinyl-stocked library, piled in an exhausted, tangled heap on the leather couch with Buddy Holly blasting and an assortment of records ranging in style from Bobby Darin to The Stones' Sticky Fingers to John Coltrane. When she walks in, none of them are remotely phased by the fact that she has just discovered them lying completely naked on the couch. Her first order of business is to bluntly inform them that Beca with her heels still on and Chloe in her silk robe look like a pair of nineteen-twenties mafia prostitutes and that all they're missing is a cigarette holder and a crackly gramophone. When Beca makes a snide retort involving her long legs, she raises an eyebrow and basely ignores the blatantly obvious fact that Chloe's hand is sneaking back somewhere that's definitely not appropriate for public viewing.

"I thought you tramps would like to be reminded that we have a party to go to at nine so that you can have a chance to actually make yourselves presentable," she informs them cooly, turning a blind eye to Chloe's lips trailing down Beca's chest. The smaller brunette jolts a little, though at the news or the touch it's impossible to say.

"The Rafferty party? It's tonight?" Beca gasps. Face half shielded from view by her lover's hair, Chloe purses her lips into a smirk that is absolutely wicked. "Ah, holy fu - Chloe!" is the resulting exclamation as she squirms on top of Chloe, clearly uncertain whether to push the wandering hand away or roll her hips into the pressure. Stacie pays no attention to the fact that they're about three millimeters away from having actual sex right in front of her.

"Today's December nineteenth, so _yes,_ Beca, it's tonight. Were you planning on dressing up, or are you just going to go as you are knowing that you'll end up like this eventually anyway?" For a moment there's no answer as Chloe finally makes her move and Beca struggles to breathe.

"Maybe - like this." Stacie nods, her face blank, but amusement twinkles in her eyes.

"Suit yourself," she grants, and flees before she can no longer ignore the movements of Chloe's hand.

"Jesus Christ!" Chloe only grins.

"That's not my name," she sings, and puts her thumb to good use.

 _"Fuck, Chloe!"_

"That's better."

"You rascal!" Beca exclaims a few minutes later once she's caught her breath, as Chloe smirks in self-satisfaction. "Why didn't you go all shy-girl freak out on me back there?" Chloe shrugs at the same time that her smirk grows, letting her robe slip down a little farther off her shoulder.

"She'd already seen it, and neither of you seemed to be bothered, so I figured, why let it stop me? It's just a little nudity between friends, and I'm sure you've both seen it all before," she says evilly, with a knowing grin. Beca, still breathing a little heavily, props herself up on her elbows to look down at her girlfriend.

"Somebody likes to be watched, huh?" she teases, and Chloe fights the urge to blush.

"Maybe." She's proud of herself for managing to sound casual, especially when they're on even footing; with neither of them in their roles, she has the potential to take the upper hand, and she's enjoying teasing Beca probably more than she should. What can she say? It's satisfying to bait her knowing that she can't get in trouble for it.

"Good," Beca purrs, tracing a finger down sweat-slickened abs, and Chloe swallows with the thought that maybe she spoke too soon. "Because with where we're going tonight, you're going to be whether you like it or not." And then Chloe's breath catches, because yes, she definitely put the cart before the horse with this one. Suddenly her throat's constricted and all she can manage in the way of coherency is a quiet, "ummm . . ." Beca smirks, but then sobers almost immediately, pushing herself off of the taller girl to stand by the couch and stretch with an only moderately evil look in her eyes.

"Before we get ready, though, we need to have a conversation about what happened a few nights ago," she says seriously. "I know that we took care of things in the immediate aftermath, but we still need to talk about why things went where they did." Chloe know's she absolutely correct, but for a moment, she feels a trace of anxiety at the thought of such a confrontation.

Then something occurs to her.

"Collared?" she asks. Beca fixes her with that penetrating stare and nods.

"Collared," she confirms, and Chloe relaxes. The thought of having a conversation with regular Beca about what she did as a submissive unnerves her somewhat, but knowing that they'll be firmly within their roles when they discuss it settles her. She can handle the discomfort if she knows that her responsibility is being controlled by her Mistress.

"Should we go now?" she says after a moment; they're not accomplishing anything standing here. Grabbing her own robe from the back of the couch, Beca purses her lips and nods again.

"Now is as good a time as any," she agrees.

Relieved to a degree, Chloe makes to follow her down the hall, stopping when Beca pauses in the doorway. With a smile to sooth the confusion lining the redhead's eyes, she reaches down and links their hands.

"We're not there yet," is all she says, but Chloe understands. She smiles in return, and finds herself smoothing tiny patterns into the back of Beca's hand with her thumb as she absorbs their last moments of being together like this tonight.

When they reach the doorway to the playroom, Beca stops and turns to face her. Chloe focuses on her eyes, prepared for her to speak; she's taken by surprise when Beca leans up to pull her into a deep, passionate kiss. She pulls away only a few moments later, leaving Chloe still with surprise. When still she doesn't speak, Chloe automatically glances down to see that the collar is in Beca's hand, obviously taken from the hall table by the door.

Without hesitation, and with another smile, Chloe fastens it around her neck.

With the cool leather pressed to her skin, she takes a moment to feel out the nuances of the shift within her. It pushes back her most immediate thoughts of what next, leaving her content to let Beca lead her, and brings into sharper focus the sense of comfort and familiarity that Beca's presence always brings. Her concentration on her surroundings lessens; she is alert and receptive to every bit of new information that filters into her brain, but it's as though a filter has been put in that removes any sense of responsibility.

Her first instinct is to sink to her knees, but she is forced to wait a moment as Beca places a guiding hand on the small of her back and leads her inside. Then, on the carpet, Chloe gives in to her impulses, kneeling with her hands behind her back and her eyes down. Beca pulls up a chair and sits close in front of her, leaning forward with her chin in her hands to show that she means business.

To Chloe's surprise, she is given a moment of silence.

For a second or two, she's confused, but then she feels the weight of Beca's gaze pressing in on her, and she realizes that her Mistress is giving her time to collect herself and gather her thoughts. She's giving her a moment to orient herself to the situation, to recognize what it is they're here to talk about, and why it must be discussed. She also realizes in the same moment that Beca is doing so in order to have her take the lead in this discussion.

A wave of gratitude washes over her; she remembers before, with Mark, being uncertain whenever she did something wrong. He would inform her that she had angered him, but would never tell her why, or question why she did it. Instead of merely informing her of her wrongdoing, Beca is leading her, guiding her mind through the process of understanding what happened. This is true communication beyond sharing facts and picking them apart; this is allowing for deeper comprehension so that they have the ability to mold their response to the situation together instead of shooting blindly and hoping that one of them hits the bullseye.

When words rise to her lips, she knows them to be the ones she needs, just as she feels suddenly that to raise her eyes to Beca in that moment will be a sign of respect rather than of disobedience. She looks up at her domme with clear eyes, seeing pride and satisfaction reflected back at her - from her own eyes, or from Beca's, she does not know - and as she speaks, she feels the last of her control wane as she allows Beca the freedom to lead her mind without interference.

"My trust wasn't unconditional; you taught me that," she begins. Beca doesn't move, doesn't prompt her with a look or gesture to continue, but it's apparent that she's listening with complete attention. "I wasn't convinced that you knew what I needed because you were looking at how I was feeling from the outside, but that's why you did know." Beca hums approvingly.

"There's more, pet. What else?" she asks, quiet yet commanding. It takes Chloe a minute to find the answer, a minute of closing her eyes and searching her memory of that night to see a clue. When her eyes flutter open as she speaks again, her words are sure, but questioning, as though she doesn't entirely understand.

"You need to trust me too," she says slowly, and her answer earns a nod of approval.

"I do," Beca agrees. With both hands, she reaches out to cradle Chloe's cheeks, gazing purposefully into her eyes. "I've been a domme for seven years, Chloe. I know to an extent when to stop what I'm doing, but everyone is different. Only you know what your true limits are, and I won't play guessing games trying not to push you too far. This is for our enjoyment, Chloe, but because of the nature of what we both enjoy, our trust has to work both ways. The most important element of trust in this for you as a submissive is that you trust me to stop when you tell me to." She pauses for a moment, looking deeply into sapphire eyes. Chloe has never seen her domme's eyes so serious before.

"The thing is, Chloe, that you can't trust me to stop if you can't ask me to. Breaking my submissive's trust is something I never, ever want to do, but I can't promise anybody that I won't unless I know the point at which it breaks. I have to have faith in you that you will tell me when to stop, Chloe. I won't deal with you resenting me or berating yourself because you don't know how to tell me that you're uncomfortable." Chloe feels herself shrink a little, understanding completely, but upset that she's caused her Mistress any kind of distress. Beca hums thoughtfully.

"At some point - not tonight - I think it would be good to try to get you comfortable with the idea of using your safeword," she decides after a moment. "I know it's not something anyone likes to do, but you can't avoid it because it's uncomfortable. But that is for a later date." She traces a finger down Chloe's cheekbone and watches her submissive shiver. "Right now, I'd like to give you a little pleasure to atone for tossing you in an ice bath." There's humor behind her words as well as more than a little lust, and Chloe wants to reap the full benefits of this, she really does, but there's something that she wants more, even if she doesn't realize it until the moment the words have left her lips.

"Thank you, Mistress, but if you allow it, I would rather please you." She's only dully aware of how sincere she really sounds; suddenly, all her mind can compute is that her Mistress is in front of her and she wants to give her everything she can. Beca stares at her for a long moment.

"Are you sure?" She sounds as though she genuinely wants to know, which shouldn't throw Chloe, but it does, and while her brain is still spinning, her mouth answers for her.

"My duty is to please my Mistress," she says simply. Beca narrows her eyes and learns forward to grip her chin and stare hard into honest blue.

"Don't feed me lines, my pet; convince me of what you really think," she growls, her tone holding a hint of warning.

Chloe doesn't know whether what she says next is purposeful or not, but what she registers as she says it is that it's absolutely nothing but the truth.

"Nothing would give me more pleasure than to know that I have made my Mistress happy," she starts humbly, and when Beca clucks at her, she steels herself with a sure yet wicked glint in her eyes and continues. "I don't doubt that you would make me feel good, Mistress, but I would enjoy myself so much more with my lips on your clit, drinking you in as I listen to you scream and feel your body tremble under my touch, the taste of you flooding my mouth as you come so hard that you forget your own name."

Beca gapes.

For a moment, she struggles to speak, opening and closing her mouth in a vain attempt to find words. When at last she is able to pull herself together enough to formulate a response, Chloe's gaze has long been lowered back to the carpet, all hints of mischief gone but for a twinkling in her eyes.

"You, my pet, are a sneaky little devil," she proclaims once she has regained control. "All right, have it your way then." She stands and reaches up to untie her robe, but no sooner have her hands reached the belt than Chloe is speaking.

"Mistress, wait, please." Beca halts, staring appraisingly down at her submissive, who is looking up at her rather daringly. "Standing isn't . . . will you allow me to . . ." she can't appear to find the words herself, and after a moment, Beca takes pity on her.

"Would you like to take me to bed, my pet?" she inquires, half amused, and quirks a small smile when Chloe immediately nods.

"Please, Mistress." Beca's gaze has intensified.

"Then don't dawdle," is all she says, but Chloe understands the answer to be a yes. Without asking permission, she rises to her feet. Beca raises an eyebrow at her, but Chloe shows no sign of uncertainty, stepping purposefully close to her domme and looking at her from beneath fluttering eyelashes. She gestures to the belt of the robe.

"May I?" she inquires lowly. Solemnly, Beca nods.

"You may."

* * *

"But why?" Chloe's in no position to argue, but she still doesn't understand why Stacie and Aubrey would both show up as dommes when they're clearly attending this party together. It also makes her feel a little awkward, glad though she is of the collar around her neck, because she's the only submissive in their party of four. Stacie and Aubrey aren't her Mistresses, of course, but common courtesy still requires her to keep her eyes lowered in their presence and address them as respectfully as she speaks to Beca.

"Chloe," Beca warns, a hand tightening on the back of her collar in warning; she's asking too many questions. It's all right if it's just the two of them in their room, especially if her inquiries pertain to something that she's uncertain about doing, but they're in public in the presence of two other dommes, and despite her friendship with them, her questions have been a little personal for this particular setting.

"It's all right, Beca." Stacie waves the infraction away. "I don't blame her for being curious. What it is, Chloe," she explains, redirecting her attention to the redhead, "is that neither Aubrey nor I feel like going as a submissive tonight. Sometimes she does, sometimes I do, and sometimes we both do and have Beca look out for us, but tonight neither of us are really feeling it." Chloe can't hold back a slight giggle at the phrasing, but she composes her face a little in understanding; she can't empathize, not being a switch, but the way Stacie explains it makes enough sense to get her to stop asking questions.

Now she just has to make it through the night surrounded by women in leather and catsuits. It's going to be a piece of cake.

(Or, you know, she might be, depending on how intense that hungry look in Beca's eyes gets over the course of the evening. She's pretty sure that it should be illegal, the way her domme is looking at her.)

As they pull up to the townhouse where the party is being held, Beca parks the car in the private lot and turns around to face Chloe, who is sitting in the back with Stacie.

"All right, here's how this is going to work," the domme begins seriously. "This party is private, but it isn't invite-only; anyone who saw the community announcement can show up, so it's still a bit selective, but there might be some people here who aren't as respectable as they ought to be. That means that you need to stay beside one of the three of us at all times. Stacie and Aubrey aren't going to make you do anything you're uncomfortable with, but if I'm not around, they're going to watch out for you to make sure nobody tries to mess with an unattended submissive. You will listen to them and obey them the same way you would listen to me. Do you understand?" Chloe lets her eyes flicker upwards for a brief moment to show her agreement.

"Yes, Mistress."

"You will be respectful to the others Masters, but you will not take orders from anyone other than the three of us," Beca continues. "You will not speak unless spoken to, unless it's to use your safeword, which Stacie and Aubrey already know. You will walk beside us, but if we sit down or stop to talk to someone, you will immediately kneel and stay down until one of us tells you that you may stand again. You will keep your eyes down at all times unless otherwise instructed. If you cannot manage that, you will be blindfolded. You are not to engage in conversation with the other submissives or accept refreshments from anyone other than Stacie, Aubrey, or me. If someone bothers you, tell one of us and let us handle it; if for any reason none of us are around, you may deal with the situation yourself, but do not cause a scene unless the situation is critical. If at any point you become distressed or need to leave, use your safeword and one of us will immediately take you home. Have you got all that?" Beca's eyes are burning intensely with something other than dominance; Chloe has to swallow to fight her urge to lean over the back of the seat and take her right there in front of their friends.

Beca glances at her watch.

"It's quarter of ten. I have a set at ten-fifteen, at which point I will hand you over to either Aubrey or Stacie, depending on what they're doing. Until then, stay by my side, all right?" she clarifies once more. Chloe nods.

"Yes, Mistress." Beca purses her lips.

"That's everything then," she determines. In the dark of the backseat, Stacie smiles.

"Let's do this."

With all of the instructions Beca gave her, Chloe had expected to be constantly on her guard, watching the guests suspiciously for signs of harassment, but it turns out that the crowd is surprisingly low-key. It's a music benefit done to raise money to build a better library for a local charter school, and the people in attendance are correspondingly easygoing, most of them singers or musicians who make their money performing at shotgun weddings and trivia nights at bars in Tribeca. It's definitely less intense than Chloe was expecting; nearly everyone is at least partially clothed. The dommes, however, are still intimidating, and she has to work to keep her eyes on the floor even when she can feel their gazes linger on her.

She's dressed in dark blue, skin-tight leather pants and a tiny black leather halter crop-top that leaves just enough to the imagination to entice people's gazes to linger. She knows she looks good, and she's enjoy it, but while that would normally lead her to feel capable of conquering something, she is instead reduced to feeling like a helpless little thing in need of protection. All three of the dommes at her side are donning massive heels to match their black catsuits. She feels little as always beside Beca, even though the domme is technically shorter than she, and Aubrey is tall anyways, but Stacie completely dwarfs her at five-foot-eight with six inch stiletto boots.

Chloe feels very small.

She feels even smaller when, after half an hour of socializing, Beca announces that her set is coming up, and departs to go set up her equipment, leaving her in the care of Stacie.

Worried was the wrong word for what she had been feeling; Chloe had been wondering what it would be like to be under the control of someone other than her Mistress. As comfortable as she was around Stacie and Aubrey, she had been uncertain. Knowing that, she's surprised when she immediately feels completely at ease. Stacie's smile is easy, her presence companionable and protective but not possessive by any means, and Chloe's doubts are instantly erased. The tall brunette stands close to her friend's submissive with her hands to herself, but keeps a watchful eye on the crowd to be sure that everything is under control. Chloe, meanwhile, tries to reconcile the powerful domme at her side with the nervous, doting young mother and playful roommate she's familiar with.

She's surprised by how quickly time passes, and as Beca's hour-long set is drawing to a close, she finds herself anticipating the next time they will go out; there's another party, a more formal one, in a week and a half, and she's excited to see what it will hold.

She's completely relaxed, counting down the remaining few minutes until she's reunited with Beca and they can depart, when the sight of a familiar face across the room makes her stiffen.

"What's wrong, Chloe?" Stacie immediately wants to know, feeling the submissive tense up beside her. Chloe doesn't answer immediately, pressing closer to Stacie and wishing for once that her hair weren't so vibrant and obvious; she has absolutely no desire to be recognized. "Chloe." Stacie's tone is demanding, not like Beca's, but enough to prod Chloe into speech.

"He's here." Her mumble is hardly audible, and it makes Stacie raise an eyebrow.

"Who's here, Chloe?" she persists. Chloe scrunches up her face and moves even closer.

"Mark." Stacie's head snaps up.

"What?"

"Please, don't let him see us!" Chloe urges frantically. "He won't be nice if he sees me here, and Beca told me not to make a scene, but I don't think I'll be able to stop myself if he does something again." Stacie stands up straighter, her eyes already following Chloe's nervous gaze to fasten themselves on the man standing across the room.

"I think it's a little late for that, Chloe," she says lowly. Chloe turns her anxious eyes upwards, forgetting Beca's instructions in her impending panic.

"What do you mean?" she asks frantically, but before Stacie can answer, a rough, slightly slurred voice cuts in.

"Well, well, well; if it isn't the little slut herself." Chloe visibly winces, the sound of his voice grating on her spine. Beside her, Stacie's green eyes narrow.

"Excuse you?"

"Don't need excuses," Mark slurs, stepping closer to them. Stacie backs away in disgust at the heavy stench of whisky hanging off of him. As she moves, she nudges Chloe's ankle with her foot, silently ordering the submissive to step behind her and let her handle the situation. "That's my girl you've got there, and if I'm right, you're not even the same one she was with the last time." Stacie scoffs, the sound harsh and derisive in her throat.

"No, I'm not; she's not my submissive, but she sure as hell isn't yours, either. She wouldn't be caught dead with a filthy, misogynistic sleaze like you," she retorts scathingly. Mark moves closer, causing the brunette to move backwards again. Behind her, Chloe presses herself into her back.

"I'll pretend you didn't say that. If she ain't yours, who the hell does she belong to?" he demands, his bleary, beady eyes struggling to fasten themselves on the quivering redhead around Stacie's shoulder.

"It's none of your damn — "

"She belongs to me, asshole," a voice cuts in smoothly. Chloe whips around at the feeling of a slender hand dancing across her bare back; warm fingers wrap themselves around the back of her collar, and Chloe's body releases all of its tension.

"Mistress," she breathes in relief, the worry lifting from her face. Beca strokes her thumb soothingly over the back of her submissive's neck but keeps her gaze locked on the man in front of them. Mark's face twists into an ugly scowl.

"What fresh hell is this?" he growls, and Beca's grip tightens.

"I ought to ask you the same thing, dickbag," she answers, the barest hint of a hiss forming in her words. "I thought I'd made my point clear that your job was to stay away from her. I guess the point didn't sink into your thick skull, so I'll say it again: _fuck off_." Mark seems to swell, his face growing beet-red with poorly suppressed fury.

"How dare you, you little bitch? You clearly don't know how to handle her; I'd obviously do a much better job." Beca actually laughs, the sound cold with anger and amusement. It makes Chloe's spine tingle, knowing that sound means that Beca is about to dish it out without reservation.

"Oh, you think so?" she taunts. "Let me run something by you here - look at her for a second. What do you see? A neglected, unsatisfied little girl with no sense of who she is? Or do you see a woman who's been taken care of; healthy, confident, and willing to give herself to someone she trusts? I'm not one for modesty; I know she feels safe with me, and I know that she's satisfied. I make her happy, something that you wouldn't know the first thing about doing." Mark takes another step towards them, and Beca pulls Chloe in closer. Reflexively, Chloe moves into her body, snuggling herself against her Mistress's side and letting the trust flow between them like a physical force.

"You think she trusts you?" Mark spits, so close that Beca has to lean back in order to avoid getting sprayed by saliva. "She doesn't trust anyone; that's what was so damn irritating about her. It's impossible to make her trust people." Something like a smirk twists Beca's lips as she turns her gaze to her submissive.

"Well, Chloe? Is that true? Do you trust me?" she questions. For a moment, Chloe thinks she's actually being serious, but then she sees the combined confidence and amusement in Beca's stormy eyes, and she allows herself small smile as she gazes up at her domme with eyes overflowing with devotion.

"With everything I am," she murmurs. Beca's eyes darken considerably at her words. She takes a moment to tenderly caress her submissive's cheek before turning back to the angry man standing just a foot away. Leaning instinctively into the touch, Chloe's eyes flutter closed.

"You see how she responds to me?" Beca nearly whispers. "She craves my touch, my praise, my attention; she will blindly obey any command I give her. She will surrender everything to give herself to me simply because she knows it will make me happy. She puts control in my hands because she knows that I will take care of her; treasure her. That is the beauty of true submission, and nothing you offer her will tempt her, because she knows that you won't make it worth her while. Power doesn't come freely; you aren't gifted with it and then permitted to use it as a means of control. Submission is what gives you strength and control; without it, you are nothing. I suggest you take some time to learn that before you damage anyone else." The moment Beca finishes speaking, Mark is up in her face, his expression twisted and ugly, his words harsh and nasty.

"You bitch! How dare you speak to me like that!"

"Yo, can you _not?"_ Mark, Beca, and Stacie all freeze, turning to stare in disbelief at Chloe, who has abruptly straightened up and is glaring at Mark with sudden and undisguised fury in her eyes. "Like, I get that you're pissed off that I ran away from you, but you've seriously got to cut back on the attitude." As Beca and Stacie continue to gape, Mark opens his mouth to retort with something nasty, but Chloe steps up into his face.

"No, you know what? You're an asshole. You don't get to speak to me like you have any kind of claim over me, and I swear to god, if you call her a bitch one more time, I will kick your sorry ass. You're seriously starting to piss me off, and I'm sick of hearing your whiny voice, so just _back. The fuck. Off."_

"Chloe, _kneel,"_ Beca hisses, but her eyes are alight with shock and amusement. Beside her, Stacie throws her head back and laughs uproariously. The sound of applause follows as Aubrey is revealed standing several feet away, a wide grin spread across her face. Immediately, Chloe drops to her knees, but she's unable to stop her answering grin as Mark stalks away, muttering to himself angrily.

"Holy shit, Red," Stacie gasps, trying to catch her breath. "You totally laid him out; that was _fabulous."_

"Agreed," Aubrey chimes in, still smiling as she moves to join them. "Girl can take care of herself, Becs; you got to give her that." Beca pretends to still be stern, but it's hard to take seriously when her eyes are full of mirth and her lips keep trying to twitch into a grin.

"That was rude, pet," she says, and Chloe ducks her head, but they're both grinning now, and it's obvious that she isn't mad in the least. "Rude, and I should probably be punishing you for speaking to a dom like that, but I have to agree with Stacie - that was fucking _fabulous."_

Chloe only grins.


	7. Swimming in Your Eyes

**A/N: WHEEEEEEEEE MERRY CHRISTMAS HAPPY HANUKKAH HAPPY NEW YEAR.  
**

 **. . . _Oops?_**

 **Um, I'll try not to take a year again? Yeah. I'll try not to take a year again. Whoops.  
**

 **This chapter actually kind of ran away with me, became a bit of a rant, and then went in a direction I totally wasn't expecting, but that's just what happens, I guess.**

 **You can all thank sasukepunk, bechloeorbhloe, xcombixgirlx, DeJee, and lots of lil' anons for pestering me for a legit year because that's how long it took for my brain and hands to get up off their asses and write this. I've actually had the first little Staubrey bit written for ages, probably since right after the last chapter went up, and they got me around to doing the rest. Lots of love for all of you guys!**

 **Loves!**

 **Teddie**

* * *

"Sweetheart, he'll be _fine_ ; it's just for the night, and CR and Denise know how to handle him. Besides, he's already sound asleep; if he wakes up and needs something, they're just a phone call away. _Relax_ ," Aubrey soothes, for once taking on the role of the calm one in their relationship. Both of them know that while she's the anxious one and Stacie more laid-back in every other situation, when it comes to their son, their roles reverse. Stacie frets over Robbie every minute with Aubrey at her shoulder trying to get her to cast away a bit of the stress.

It's especially apparent now, having just said goodbye to their son for the night, holding him between them, against their chests — their traditional goodbye gesture. They've always done it, always held him while his chubby little toddler hands slip under the collars of their shirts and press against their skin until he can feel both of their heartbeats echoing into his body. The first time he did it, it was to Stacie as she left the house for the night in the days before she moved in. She cried, scarcely past her twentieth birthday, when he stood before her on his wobbly one-year-old legs and looked purposefully at her with his hands splayed across the spot above her heart, his eyes knowing and solemn, as though silently conveying that though it wasn't the same pulse he had known before his birth, the sound that reassured him that her blood was still flowing was just as important to him as Aubrey's.

Stacie's jade eyes find her girlfriend's and search them anxiously, her teeth worrying her lower lip.

"Does this make me a bad mother?" is her whispered query, so quiet that Aubrey knows she probably didn't even intend to ask it. Immediately, the blonde shakes her head, pulling her taller girlfriend in with firm hands on her upper arms to steady her.

 _"No,"_ she declines vehemently. "You need to let go of that thought. No one is a bad parent for needing some time alone with the person they love. Everyone needs that kind of time; you don't stop being a person when you become a parent; you're just a person with a kid. You still need time without them just as you need time to yourself." Stacie is still frowning, apparently not entirely convinced.

"But he's needy," she protests. "It has to make me a bad parent if he needs me and I'm not there." Aubrey looks a little angry upon hearing that admission; she actually glares at Stacie as she moves in, backing her girlfriend up against the wall of their front hallway and pinning her there gently, releasing her arms to cradle her neck with one hand and trace the other up and down her ribs.

"Jesus Christ, babe." Her voice is a murmur contrasting with her unsettled expression. "There isn't a parent in the world who hasn't been absent at some point, and there isn't a thing any of us can do about it. We can't smother him no matter how much we want to; we just need to be there whenever we can be, and love him, and that's all that we can do. But I swear to God, if I hear you call yourself a bad parent one more time . . . sweetheart, you have no idea how lucky he is that he has you at all," she emphasizes.

"But I — " Stacie begins to protest again, but Aubrey cuts her off with a quick and sudden kiss.

"Babe, Jesus, _stop,"_ she says when she pulls away after a moment. "You're the best damn parent I've ever met. You didn't even sign up for it; you came to me expecting a girlfriend and got a kid thrown into the picture, and you didn't run screaming for the hills. Christ, babe, you were _nineteen_ ; you could've had anyone or anything you wanted, anyone in the world with less baggage, but you chose this. From the moment you met him you treated him like your own son until he became that to you, to me, and to everyone else around us, but most importantly, to _him._ You give him so much, sweetheart, and I know you're not always okay with giving yourself the same, but that's what tonight is about. You need a break from everything; I know you need me to take the reins for a little while. It's okay to need that; you know I love taking care of you like that. It's something that I need too, okay? That's why we work so well like this." Ducking her head, Stacie nods quickly. Instantly, Aubrey tips her head up with gentle fingers wrapped around a graceful jaw and runs a finger up her lover's slender neck, coaxing her gaze upwards.

Meeting Aubrey's eyes, Stacie inhales sharply at the pure love and pride shimmering in them. It never fails to astound her, after all the time they've been together, that they can still share a love like this: a love so fierce, so passionate, and so powerful that it literally brings both of them to their knees.

Speaking of, it's then that Stacie notices how another layer has been added to Aubrey's gaze, one that she's intimately familiar with. It's a look of dominance, without a doubt, but it's always interested Stacie how different that look is from her own, for example, or Beca's, which she has witnessed on occasion. Aubrey's dominant eyes hold something powerful and possessive; that part is undeniable, but they're also reverent.

Stacie never feels more treasured than when she gives herself to Aubrey and submits. Even after all their years together, the beauty of their connection hasn't faded. If anything, it's grown stronger. Stacie's been at this a long time, longer than she'd maybe care to admit, but every time Aubrey touches her or looks at her like she's hung up the moon, she feels the love spread through her just as warmly as it did the first time they were together. It sounds cliché, and maybe it is a little, but with Aubrey, every touch feels like the very first one. It's as though they're sharing a new love.

"Say it out loud, sweetheart," Aubrey coaxes in response to her timid nod. It's also a command.

Stacie finds herself breathless as she automatically obeys.

"It's okay for me to need this," she repeats. Aubrey's eyes darken.

"Don't be vague, sweetheart," she reprimands lightly, and Stacie swallows.

"It's okay for me to need a break," she exhales with a shudder breath. "It's okay for me to need to lose control. It's okay for me to need to be taken care of." And Aubrey smiles brightly in response to that, because she _knows_ ; submissive Aubrey likes pain, likes it rough and fierce and passionate, and having Stacie stand over her and give her that is wonderful, but there's something incredibly special about the way that Stacie gives herself to her when their roles are reversed. A calm night always comes along with Stacie's submission, though by no means a quiet one.

The brunette is one hell of a domme, but as a submissive, Aubrey truly sees her. She sees the raw need and devotion and adoration, the love and vulnerability and the pleasure, because they're different as submissives; Aubrey likes it rough, but Stacie needs something different. She revels in being cherished, in having the weight of her thoughts and emotions lifted, and in knowing that she will be cared for. She accepts the state of mind it prompts, needing the less complicated way of being that comes with the simple knowledge that she is deeply, profoundly loved. Aubrey loves her, treasures her, and for Stacie, that's more than she could ever ask for.

With Stacie, it's slow and sensual, erotic but intimate; she needs to be laid bare, to give herself to Aubrey, her heart open. And while she's fiery and demonstrative at other times, Aubrey adores her like this, sweet and demure and obedient, naive and trusting. Rather than the thrill of power that comes with dominance, Aubrey loves the knowledge that she gets to see this rare side of her lover. She revels in being able to give Stacie what she needs in ways that no one else can.

"Come, darling," she summons after a long moment, smiling at the way Stacie's eyes light up with joy and anticipation. Tenderly, she trails the back of her hand down her girlfriend's cheek; closing her eyes with a quiet hum of pleasure, Stacie leans into the touch before accepting the hand that Aubrey has offered and setting off with her down the hall.

Beca may be a fantastic domme in her own rite, but this is how _they_ work: with them, there are few formalities, the atmosphere already set by years of familiarity. They're not like Beca, who doesn't often sustain long relationships; they've been sharing a life like this for years. They walk together, hand in hand. No formal titles fall from their lips — no "Mistress" or "kitten" or "slave" — only names born of love: _baby girl_ and _sweetheart,_ names that fall naturally from their lips and are imbued with care and devotion. There are no collars in the privacy of their own home.

They don't have a playroom, either; not really. There's a room set aside in which they store their things, a room that's always locked to keep Robbie from stumbling across some unpleasantly inappropriate surprises, but they don't use it in the way that Beca uses hers. Often, the separation of bedroom and playroom is important in order to designate a safe space in case of negative feelings following play, but they prefer to keep their life as a single unit and not separate it into two ways of living. It's only need, after all, and lust; love. Sometimes it just takes different, non-vanilla forms.

Some people enjoy the formalities of titles and collars and walking a step behind with the eyes cast demurely down, and that way of life has its merits, of course. It's only that for them, it isn't necessary, not when they love each other so much, know each other so deeply. They've grown together in a way that allows them to give each other what they need without assuming the roles of intimate strangers; they're just Bree and Stacie, unguarded, sharing their love in a different form.

She doesn't require it of her, but a quick, warm sense of wonder never fails to engulf Aubrey when Stacie honors her by kneeling the moment the door clicks softly shut behind them. She always does it, even if only for a moment, sinking to her knees and bowing her head respectfully. She's a little surprised now, therefore, when Stacie falls into the familiar pose and doesn't quickly shift out of it, moving instead to sink into a kneeling bow with her hands curled on the floor in front of her and her head resting on her forearms.

Aubrey's breath catches; this is rare for them. She's seen Stacie do this only twice before in the hundreds of times they've been like this together. Both were times of extreme vulnerability, but more importantly, of submission. Such a gesture is not only rare; it is the most profound physical act of surrender with which a submissive can offer themselves to their domme.

It makes Aubrey's heart feel like it's going to overflow with love.

 _"Baby."_ The whisper is all she can manage as she sinks to the floor in an echo of her lover's movement, kneeling upright before her. Lightly, she trails her fingertips down Stacie's neck, tracing over her spine and marveling at the beauty beneath her fingertips. Despite her height, Stacie is small like this, all soft skin and delicate bone structure, and it makes Aubrey want to simultaneously curl around her to shelter her and see how much her body can take before it collapses in exhaustion.

She decides that tonight, she will go with a version of both.

With a gentle nudge to her shoulders, she draws her submissive back into kneeling upright. With both of them on their knees, they're the same height, with Aubrey perhaps even sitting the slightest bit taller.

With both hands, she cradles her submissive's face, palm to cheek. Stacie's hands rise up and grip her elbows lightly but firmly, holding her there. Her eyes are shimmering.

 _"You're so good,"_ Aubrey murmurs, and when a small but joyful smile spreads over Stacie's lips at the compliment, Aubrey feels a flutter in her belly because _she_ put that smile there. She makes Stacie happy, and really, in the end, that's all she ever dares to hope for.

Aubrey doesn't necessarily believe in anything other than what's right in front of her, but the depth of the connection she shares with such a beautiful human being has her convinced that there's meaning out there somewhere. At a younger age, it used to concern her all the time — the thought of paradise, and how to manipulate this life in order to secure it for the unknown that would someday come. Now, whether because she's older and wiser or more connected and at ease, she understands that maybe what happens after this doesn't matter. She knows nothing of what will happen when she dies, whether her energy will live on or melt back into the air that others breathe, but she knows what she has right now. Maybe this right here is heaven; perhaps this is the paradise she gets — perhaps even her only chance.

If it is, it's a damn beautiful one.

Their lips find each other easily, instantly moving together and parting with movements born from instinct and familiarity. They cling together, arms tangling, as the kiss deepens and grows more passionate; as one hand smooths over trembling abs to knead supple breasts and the other dips lower, trailing through wetness for only the briefest of moments before pressing downwards and deeply in.

 _"Bree."_ Stacie's needy sigh is almost lost to the air, her head falling back momentarily as she absorbs the sensation of Aubrey's slender fingers curling within her, instantly finding that magical little spot and fluttering her fingertips against it in the way that she knows will eventually break her. When the blonde finds her clit, Stacie's body lurches with a familiar jolt, curling back into Aubrey's arms with a whine. Aubrey covers her lips with her own, instantly consuming every little sound as she strokes and twists and curls her fingers at a pace that's both perfect and torturous; agonizingly beautiful.

She plays her lover's body like a finely tuned instrument, bringing her higher and higher until it seems as though she can't take any more. Her nimble fingers and hot lips bring a sweet melody of whimpers and cries and pretty little gasps as she feels Stacie fall more and more to pieces, feeling each little shudder of the muscles and the heat radiating from her skin.

She drags her higher, higher than she thought it was possible for anyone to go, and surely one should be losing air at this height, running out of oxygen as they reach the edge of the atmosphere and falter in their momentum before pausing for the briefest of moments with a whimper, delicate fingers stroking long and hard and deep. Then Stacie's eyes grow impossibly bright, shimmering with awe and wonder and adoration, her body curving into a graceful bow as she reaches the crescendo, and she crashes down with a high, keening cry, clutching weakly, frantically at her lover, gazing deeply into her eyes as she finds paradise.

* * *

"I want to ask you something," Beca tells Chloe one night when they're in what has become their bedroom, both of them sprawled across the bed and each other after an energizing first round.

Trailing her fingers through dark hair, Chloe hums her reply. For a moment, she thinks that Beca doesn't hear her, for the brunette remains silent, but then she chances a glance upwards and sees her girlfriend watching her with sleepy eyes.

"You're making it hard for me to justify getting up, you know."

"I know," Chloe murmurs in response. She continues to card through silky locks, and Beca's eyes slip closed with a hum. For several more minutes they remain that way, ensconced in each other's easy presence, before Beca abruptly sits up in bed, reluctantly shaking off the touch.

"Okay, focus, Mitchell; focus," she scolds herself. Chloe's lips curve into a smile.

"Losing your train of thought there?" she teases playfully; her nails scratch lightly behind Beca's ears. Beca rolls her eyes back a little, leaning into the touch, and attempts to shoot a mock glare at her girlfriend.

"This is _important_ ," she almost whines, and immediately, Chloe stops her caresses, though she leaves her hand where it is. Beca pouts unfairly in disappointment at the ceased movement. "You — didn't have to stop. I wanted to ask you something."

Chloe hums, resuming her petting. "You said that."

"Do you want to help me with work tomorrow?" Chloe's hand falls still.

"What?" Struggling a little to move her arms, Beca extracts herself from their tangled embrace and rolls over to lie on her stomach, head on her arms resting on Chloe's stomach as she looks up at her with round puppy eyes.

"I teach a class on occasion over at our community's main headquarters, and I could use your help," she clarifies. "You wouldn't have to do much — just listen and try not to look bored while I talk for a bit, and then stay still while I tie you up." Chloe tries to ignore the sudden, strong pulse between her legs. Instead of twitching her torso to press against Beca's thigh, as her instinct is strong to do, she settles for raising a questioning eyebrow.

"In front of people?" she asks.

"Just as a demonstration," Beca reiterates, shaking her head so that her hair sweeps across Chloe's partially exposed stomach. It tickles; she goes to brush it away, but her hand ends up creeping up into Beca's hair to curl at the nape of her neck. "We wouldn't be having sex or anything; it's just to show the newbies how to safely tie up their submissives." Chloe shifts a little beneath her, pretending to consider. It's not like she actually has to make up her mind; she's always had a bit of an exhibitionist side to her, and she'll never argue with Beca's hands on her, anytime, anywhere.

"I'd consider it, but I suppose you'd have to . . . repay me," she says slowly, slipping her hands out of Beca's hair and up under the back of her shirt to draw firm patterns with her thumbs into her girlfriend's ribs. Beca groans blissfully and presses her face into Chloe's stomach.

"I guess." The sound comes out a little garbled; the tingling between Chloe's thighs is amped up at the feeling of Beca's lips moving against her bare skin.

"I suppose I'd consider . . . a bribe," Chloe murmurs. From where she's buried in porcelain skin, Beca can't see her grin. "Something other than . . . monetary payment." Now Beca's grinning, lips stretching against her skin. She raises her head after a moment, a cheeky little smirk stretching across her face.

"I suppose," she agrees, and scoots forward on her elbows and down.

Chloe leans up, eyes closing to meet her halfway.

* * *

"You're sure that you feel comfortable?" Beca asks for the fifth time that minute, her wide eyes uncharacteristically anxious. "If you don't, I can call Stacie and have her step in, no problem — you could watch, then; maybe get a feel for it — "

"I'm _fine,_ Becs," Chloe interrupts her patiently. "I told you; I volunteered. I _want_ to do this," she specifies when Beca opens her mouth again to argue. "Relax; just tell me what I need to do, and I'll be fine. I can handle it if you're guiding me through it." Though Beca's hands by her sides are still somewhat tense, displaying her lingering anxiety, the crease between her brows smoothes out enough so that Chloe knows the situation has diffused to a manageable point.

"You're not going to be collared." And just like that, Beca's back in business mode, voice brisk and leaving no room for misunderstanding. "I won't be doing anything hardcore — just giving them a little background information, teaching them how to tie knots or lace up wrist cuffs, and showing them where not to hit. It probably won't be enough to get you into subspace, but if you slip into it, that's okay — most of them have probably been doing their own version of pre-gaming unless they're newbies, so you'd be far from the only one if you did." Chloe hums her understanding.

She's in the middle of pulling on her outfit: a pair of plain leather leggings and a tight crop top that keeps her covered at the same time that it leaves nothing to the imagination. Beca has explained that anatomy is a necessary component of the training, but that for this situation, nothing overly provocative is warranted. This is, for all intents and purposes, a class, even though it's labeled as a social gathering.

They're at what Beca has informed her is a former dance studio on the Lower East Side, but what Chloe can only describe as a combination art gallery and nightclub. It's reportedly a hub for those interested in the scene, one that holds events of all kinds from masquerades galas to sensual hot yoga. With an herbal tea and smoothie bar in the lobby and erotic artwork lining the hallways, the aesthetic can't seem to decide between raunchy, hip, and sophisticated.

Chloe has decided she feels right at home.

"So, give me the low-down," she prompts Beca as she fights a snarl in her hair. Stepping behind her, Beca effortlessly tugs it back into a ponytail with a deft flick of her wrist.

"I thought we went over this at home," she comments after Chloe playfully smacks her hands away from straightening her shirt.

"We did," Chloe replies simply, "but I feel like, after setting foot in the place, using the phrase 'technical and theoretical aspects of dominance and submission demonstration and information session' is going just the tiniest bit overboard." She turns to shoot Beca a grin, but finds her girlfriend bent over in her tiny shorts tying her shoes and instead ends up getting a decent eyeful. Standing back up, Beca catches her eyeing her legs and returns the sentiment, her grin just a tad more lecherous.

"Maybe so," she grants once she's reigned in the naughty vibe that's threatening to escape. "Right, then — this is a private association; you have to be a member in order to attend any events. Because safety is a top priority, the association offers classes to dominants and subs so that they don't have a field day their first night on the scene and end up in any kind of trouble. The more intense classes are available to members only, but anyone needing a refresher or newbies we've scouted out at a munch and who are interested in memberships get to attend a specific series of introductory courses to test the waters, so to speak. The association fields long-time members to act as instructors for some of them, and I volunteered," she explains. Chloe nods slowly, taking it all in.

"It's a pretty complicated organization," she realizes aloud as she considers all of the responsibilities of even a low-level instructor. Beca cracks a grin at her revelation.

"You could say that," she agrees. "And even then, there's a hell of a lot more to it than it seems. We're the top organization in the city, so we cover a lot of official ground, which takes a ton of attention and manpower. Plus, we extend our reach to a few other community organizations, so we have delegates for them as well." Chloe stares as Beca straightens her headband — an uncharacteristically girlish accessory.

"Do _you_ do any of this?" she wants to know. Beca hums her assent; Chloe narrows her gaze suspiciously. "How much?" she presses, and suddenly, she's got an evilly smirking domme all up in her face.

"We'll get there eventually, sweetcheeks," Beca purrs; she's trailing a single fingertip down the front of her girlfriend's shirt. Chloe swallows hard. " _Patience_ — we're late in getting started, and I don't want to keep the anxious newbies waiting. Besides, there's some key information that you'll learn in the session, as well as some that is better reserved for . . . private affairs." And with that, she saunters from the room with a beckoning finger, leaving Chloe standing there with her mouth hanging open and her brain hurting from the whiplash of the sudden shift in persona.

She had two years with Mark to get accustomed to living in the presence of a dominant, but it was his _constant_ manner of presentation. When the two of them aren't closeted away in the double-locked, sound-proofed back room of Beca's house, their relationship has actually proven fairly vanilla. Most often than not, really, it's Chloe who dictates the shift with a need to submit, but sometimes a word or glance or situation will prompt a little twitch in Beca's eyebrow. Chloe has learned by now that when that happens, she has about two seconds before she's confronted by Beca the Domme. She hasn't quite figured out how to handle that in the presence of others.

Actually, she's looking forward to seeing what Beca is like in front of a class — a domme for all intents and purposes, but not a Mistress. She'll be instructing the new dominants and their submissives on some lifestyle etiquette, and she's warned Chloe that she'll probably end up having to physically demonstrate some things, but she won't be _dominating_ anyone in the class.

Well, except for Chloe, that is.

Following Beca, Chloe exits the small changing room and emerges into the main studio — a large room with an aesthetic clearly geared more towards the community than the more neutral hot yoga rooms. Whoever converted it has left it as a regular dance studio space, complete with hardwood and mirrors. A series of small cabinets, however, now lines the back wall of the room, the contents of which Chloe has a sneaky suspicion are not unlike the items in their closet at home. Even more blatantly obvious is the actual floor-to-ceiling rack of . . . devices in the back corner. The other main wall not covered with mirrors is emblazoned with a massive painting of the BDSM symbol.

The fifteen or so people posed comfortably on the floor, oddly enough, don't add much to the general aesthetic. In fact, Chloe decides, there isn't much about this room that could be called dungeon-like. She hasn't interacted much with other people in the lifestyle other than a few of Mark's friends, Stacie and Aubrey, and those at their brief excursion to the holiday party. Between Mark and the fact that she's dating a highly-valued member of the community, she doesn't know much about the everyday participants of the lifestyle. Actually, these people all look . . . startlingly _normal._ With the exception of one short guy in the back who's donning a pretty serious fedora, everyone is dressed in work-out clothes and running shoes and has their hair tied out of the way. Any of them could be on their way home from the gym.

Looking at the entirely unremarkable people curled up on the floor of a renovated dance studio, Chloe is reminded once again that she has a lot to learn.

"Morning everybody," Beca's voice breaks cheerfully into Chloe's thoughts, and she blinks a little when she realizes that she's forgotten Beca's here, too. It seems that her domme has slipped fully into teacher mode; she's standing in front of them all with her shoulders back and head held high, commanding attention. She's even got her hands folded in front of her, which reminds Chloe, with a jolt of amusement, of her high school math teacher.

"Good morning," the group greets in chorus. Beca graces them all with a little grin before composing herself and letting her gaze travel around the room.

"I'm glad you've all decided that this class is worth your time," she begins, "because an introduction to the lifestyle is essential for those wishing to fully embrace it. My inauguration was a little unorthodox, and while I was aware of some crucial aspects of relationship dynamics from the start, I lacked a good deal of important information. I eventually built my understanding through experience, trial, and error, and as I'm sure you can see, I came through it just fine." She pauses, taking a moment to fasten her eyes on each of them in turn, before continuing.

"That may be an isolated case." A serious note has entered her tone; instinctively, Chloe straightens up attentively, sensing that the impending information is something that will prove important to absorb. Seeing the subtle shift in the rest of the group's body language in her periphery, she finds that the others are in agreement. Beca continues. "While trial and error is inevitable, especially in a relationship so deeply dictated by personal preference, the _sort_ of experimentation you involve yourself in walks a thin line. It's a very close nudge from an innocent exploration of preference to a physical boundary getting pushed too far and someone getting seriously hurt. There were countless occasions when I or the person I was with could have sustained a serious injury, and over the years, I've had a few very, very close calls. An occasional mishap is probable, but it's in everybody's best interest to make sure that if an accident does occur, it incurs the smallest possible amount of damage.

"Later on, we'll talk in more detail about how to avoid physical damage," Beca adds. Chloe notes relieved expressions on some of the newer-looking member's faces. "For now," she continues, "I'm going to talk a little about what it means to be a dominant and a submissive. Who here," she says a little louder, startling them all when they realize she's seeking their participation, "is brand-new to the lifestyle and considering taking on a submissive role?"

For a moment, no one moves, and then a small girl in the back with honey-colored hair tentatively raises her hand. Chloe chuckles a little to herself at the realization that of _course_ this is the submissives' response; if Beca had requested this information of the dominants in the group, they would have all immediately and concisely replied.

"What's your name there, little one?" Beca asks of the new submissive. A faint blush has risen on the girl's cheeks, but she replies confidently.

"I'm Laura."

"Laura," Beca repeats. "Do you have a dominant with you this morning?" The blush grows brighter, spreading down Laura's neck; still, she keeps her head held high.

"She's . . . I _want_ her to be my domme," she explains, "but I'm new to the scene and Carm's been part of it for a while, so I wanted to learn a little more about it before approaching her about it." Beca nods understandingly.

"And do the two of you have an established relationship?" she asks. Laura has ceased to blush, a shy sort of smile overtaking her expression.

"I — yes," she amends, perhaps sensing the threat of Beca's impending eyebrow raise. "We're together, and she's said she's fine with having a vanilla relationship, but I _know_ she wants more. She'd never push me, but I realized recently that I _want_ to do this for her, and I thought that I should at least have _some_ idea of what she's talking about if she decides to . . . show me the ropes." A light snigger breaks out from Fedora Guy at the particularly appropriate word choice; despite herself, it seems, Laura grins, and even Beca cracks a smile.

"You're worried that she won't want you as her submissive, aren't you?" she says keenly once the amusement has died down. Laura ducks her head shyly, clearly a little embarrassed by all of the attention and her relationship being brought to the spotlight.

"A little," she admits. Suddenly, she appears nervous, and Chloe is struck by the sudden urge to reassure her of her worth. She suffered through two whole years of submissive to Mark, two years during which she wasn't at all sure that she was wanted. Finding her place with Beca has shown her how wrong she was to presume that no one could hold her in any position of esteem. Ironically, it's been her time as a submissive — with Beca, anyway — that has given her strength. Perhaps that's the truth of this sort of relationship — that a submissive, despite his or her position, holds the most power in the relationship, because they _know_ that their dominant values them. Then again, they value their dominant equally in return.

It's all about give and take, Chloe realizes, and even though she's heard the words associated with their sort of relationship so many times before, it really hits her for the first time just how _true_ it is.

A domme in the middle of the room is leaning back on her elbows to place a comforting hand on Laura's shoulder.

"Trust me, cutie," she says with a sweet smile. "She'll want you." Fedora Guy grins.

"Yeah, don't even doubt that, kid," he interjects. "She loves you, obviously, because there's no way she couldn't, even if you aren't submitting to her, and as a domme, the fact that you want to give her that will make her love you all the more." Beca's lips are twitching at the edges with a smile; Chloe can see her fingers fidgeting a little as though she, too, wishes to reach out and provide comfort.

"All right," she breaks through the murmur after a minute. "Let's not get too sidetracked. I want to talk to you all a little bit about the nuances of dominance and submission, so, please, can I get a show of hands — who in here considers themselves a dominant?" Chloe watches with interest, again containing a chuckle, as the dominants instantly respond — eight. Fedora Guy is among them. The submissives are a little slower on the uptake and act slightly more reserved, but after a little hesitance, all five have raised their hands. The remaining three in the room turn out to be switches like Aubrey and Stacie, though they, unlike Chloe's new friends, are new to the scene.

"Okay," Beca says once everyone's roles have been established. "First things first: I'm going to establish very clearly, right here and now, that this class is not a joke. If you're going to participate, I need you to be serious. That isn't intended to scare you off — I need to make sure that you understand what you're getting yourselves into. Anyone can goof off in their bedroom with handcuffs and Bellamione role-play and have a little rough sex, and that's _fine._ In fact, I encourage you to broaden your horizons." A few nervous titters break out, and Beca grants them a smirk. Fedora Guy guffaws a little louder than the others.

"That being said," Beca continues once the chuckles have died down, "if you're in this room right now, it means that you've decided to commit to becoming a more serious, active member of this community and want to be proactive in becoming well-versed in the essential knowledge. After your first few classes, we'll start charging you, and after you've all gone through your background checks and proved yourself to be an attentive, active participant by the end of the introductory, we'll extend the offer of conditional membership. A little bit longer, just to keep an eye on you and have you attend some additional classes, and if all goes well we'll invite you to join us officially — if you're still around, that is." The class has taken on a more sober, attentive air, and Chloe can sense that they're all listening very closely.

"What if we make it halfway through and decide that we don't want to continue?" a sub pipes up from over by the rack of toys. Several others nod in agreement. Beca fastens her eyes on the girl with an understanding expression.

"If you discover that you no longer wish to participate, you may leave at any time, including if you become a member," she answers easily, and Chloe sees several sets of shoulders relax. "We understand that this lifestyle can be overwhelming at the best of times, and it certainly isn't for everybody. We'll never hold you here if you don't want to stay — though if you do want to stay and don't show up or pay attention, we might not grant you the privilege," she adds sternly. "Joining us means that you want to become seriously engaged, so for as long as you stick around, we expect that you will comport yourself accordingly. That being the case, if any of you feel as of right now that you would rather stick to casual handcuffs and Bellamione, you should probably skedaddle. No judgment, no questions asked."

She waits, and Chloe waits, half expecting someone to stand up and leave, but no one does. Searching the group, Chloe finds all eyes intently focused on her girlfriend. In a way, she envies their freedom of choice — she knew for a long time before meeting Mark that she was interested in BDSM, but she never had a chance to be proactive about it; she was simply dragged into it. It's intriguing for her to be in this setting, something of a veteran, yet at the same time uninformed. Maybe she'll get more out of these sessions than she expected.

"All right then," Beca declares when it's clear no one is going to move. "Let's get to it: I want to talk to you a little bit about submission and what it means to be a sub.

"One thing you need to understand is that just because you're naturally passive doesn't mean that you should be an active submissive — in fact, it often means that you shouldn't," she informs them seriously. "Often, someone with the best grounds for submission is someone who is naturally aggressive and willful — in other words, a strong person looking for someone stronger. Part of the satisfaction of being the top dog is in fighting out everyone else for the spot; if there's no one higher up on the food chain, you get no satisfaction. You're likely to question why no one is challenging you; maybe even wondering if people think that you aren't worth the challenge. Submission provides that; dominants provide that. You both have strong personalities, but they emerge under different circumstances.

"Then again," she counters herself, "someone who feels an intense need to submit is just as valid as a submissive as someone who needs to feel the loss of their usual control. Much of the time, either strongly as a natural submissive or at the heart if they're typically more outgoing, a submissive has either one or both of two desires: to relinquish control, and to serve.

"Of course, not all submissives wish to be slaves. Just as is the case with gender and sexuality, submission and dominance lie on a spectrum. You may only wish to be restrained, or you may wish to be humiliated; you might want the reassurance that you're wanted; you might you might want a little pain or a lot. You might only desire aftercare. You might not desire any pain at all, and only cherish a deep desire to serve your partner domestically and cater to their needs. Obviously, you might want all of it, or any combination thereof; the possibilities are endless.

"You should never be afraid to embrace your submission in its various forms, and accept each nuance as it changes from day to day. Your feelings and preferences will change with your moods, especially depending on whether you're only a submissive during play or a full-time, collared slave. Depending on your dominant's responses, you may be cast into a different mood, which is why, dominants, it is important to remember that your actions always affect someone else.

"A good dominant should always have a purpose to their actions; one should keep a specific aim in mind, whether that be learning control or humility, establishing trust, eliminating a fear, or relieving stress — even if it is only for your shared pleasure. Actions are shallow without purpose, and their impact will weigh much heavier if they carry a deeper meaning. A submissive's punishment, for example, will sink in more effectively if it signifies more than just a whipping or forced abstinence; getting a submissive's psyche to turn towards what they need to learn will better get the message across. Of course, you might not wish for any hidden layers at all, and only desire to hurt and be hurt, or love and be loved, but that, too, is not without its hidden weight.

"Dominance can be akin to submission in its ability to free us, break us, and train us. It forces our temperance and our compliance to our own limits as well as those of our partner. It also allows us release in a controlled capacity, whether that's with care or with pain. Sometimes it's simple: we just want to make someone hurt. We want to destroy them, break them down to nothing and make certain that they know we're the only one who can build them back up, and that to do so or not to do so is our choice. If you have found the right partner to suit your needs, they will crave that destruction.

"Of course, sometimes we only want to provide, to give care and love and service, and in that way we are much like our submissives. It's in the destruction, however, and the desire to rebuild, that our dominance truly shows. There's something almost magical about ruining some sweet, compliant creature even as they protest, breaking them down to rubble and ragged pleas and then taking them into your arms and being the one to restore the vibrance that you love and ache to dismantle.

"Likewise, there's something incredibly special about kneeling at someone's feet and giving in, surrendering entirely your being to their will, to their hands and whips and words. That you grant that trust and faith makes you feel good, and that you provide them with that gives you power. They _need_ you, you understand, in order to let go, and they are powerless to do it without you because their craving depends on your want and willingness to be destroyed. When you bare yourselves to them, they trust you to give them what they need just as you have faith in them to do the same, and so you see how beautifully you both give and receive. Your shared devotion to one another will be sustenance, energy, and if you're able to entrust that to each other, it will show.

"Whether you're interested in sadomasochism or simply wish to serve one another, it has been proven and is only reasonable to presume that such a dynamic will lend a great deal to a relationship. Your bond will be deeper, your trust in each other firmer; your devotion to each other will be profoundly increased, but only if you are the type of people who desire such a connection. People in the vanilla world may find other ways to achieve the same intimacy, but this is about what you want; what you need. It's about discovering the things that feed your desire and love and comfort with yourselves and with each other. It's about your connection to another person and how deep you can discover it can be."

Chloe is blown away.

She's witnessed, of course, Beca's occasional explanations of what it means to be dominant, but never before has she heard her speak of her role with such passion. As Beca goes on in her speech, Chloe feels her begin to loosen up, the fervor beginning to spill from her lips as she speaks on and on. The group is silent, unmoving, their eyes fastened on her with the same sort of awe and fascination Chloe's sure must be evident on her own face.

If this is how spellbound Beca can keep people while extorting the beauty of BDSM dynamics, how come she's never done more than teach one class at a time? Or is there still something Chloe doesn't know?

Resolving to ask her about it later, Chloe allows herself to sink back into the sway of Beca's voice and watch the way her lips move and her eyes shine as she continues to speak to them all.

"This class is meant to provide a temporary outlet for you, something to experiment with before you're quite experienced enough to try it out with an actual person. If you can become fully absorbed in it in here, then it's probably safe to say you at least want to attempt it in real life. Never make the mistake, though, of trying to be too idealistic with your real-life partner; fantasy can only take us so far, and while role-play is a perfectly effective alternative — " Beca's informative spiel is abruptly cut off when the door to the studio is flung open. Startled, every occupant of the room jumps.

In the doorway, feet planted and chest heaving with exertion, stands a young person with a shock of orange hair and a silver flannel jumpsuit. To Chloe's eyes, they present themselves as non-binary, though she supposes that they could simply be androgynous. The low alto, single-pitched voice that escapes them between heavy pants don't lend much of a clue, either.

"Mistress Beca — so sorry for interrupting — your class — but there's been a security breach. South — south entrance."

"What kind of breach, L?" Beca's voice is surprisingly calm, though Chloe notes that her shoulders have tensed up with concern. A submissive scoots closer to Fedora Guy for comfort; Laura's ears have perked up intently.

"She's back."

The emotions that flash through Beca's eyes are too rapid for Chloe to follow, and before she can even fully register that she's seen them, the domme is stalking from the room, barking out a quick stay here that snaps through the air behind her in a sharp, empty echo. Without question, though vibrating with curiosity, everyone obeys.

Well, almost everyone.

* * *

"What have I told you about coming back here?" Beca's voice is low when Chloe creeps to the end of the hallway, careful to remain silent in her approach. By poking her head carefully around the corner, she's just able to make out the figure of her girlfriend in the shadows cast by the dim wall-sconces; the rest of the building is lit by natural light, but in this lower corridor the windows are blocked off, most likely, she presumes, to protect the privacy of the occupants of the private rooms lining the hall. Some of the doors are open, but none are lit within, and Chloe can't hear anyone in the area. The ginger-haired security guard must have ordered everyone from the area.

"Not to do it, I know, but oh, Mistress, I had to see you; I got the job at a photography gallery, like you told me to, but they didn't like me, so I left there last week and got a new job at a real-estate company, and I like it so much; I wanted to see you and tell you all about it." The new voice is also low, though painfully earnest and decidedly female. Chloe angles herself a little differently so as to lean slightly further into the hallway without detection, and discovers that the newcomer is is a brunette woman slightly under Beca's height, willowier than Chloe. From the way Chloe is angled, she can see the woman's eyes, which gaze up widely at Beca in a way that makes Chloe uncomfortable and is decidedly too adoring.

"Sheila, I told you before that you can't come back here. You can't see me. You need to leave." Beca's voice is firm, a little colder than Chloe has experienced it. Even when the two of them confronted Mark in his apartment, Beca was burning with rage. Now, she only sounds tired and resigned.

"But I _miss_ you," Sheila whines; Chloe cringes at the tone. Beca hates whining, and in wanting to cater to her preferences, Chloe has developed a sympathetic pet peeve. Besides, she's always also nursed a strict aversion to desperate ex-lovers, and as much as she's loathe to admit it, that's exactly what this intruder is coming across as being. "You're always so busy, Mistress; I never get to see you anymore."

"I'm not your Mistress." Beca's tone grows suddenly sharp, and even Chloe winces despite knowing that the biting words aren't directed at her. There's something about an angry domme that make anybody cringe. "I haven't been for over a year, Sheila; it's high time you got over that. We haven't been together in over a _year_. Now get out of here before I call security."

"But they already saw me," Sheila purrs. She takes a cat-like step forward, running her finger lightly along the outside of Beca's arm and shoulder, and suddenly Chloe's having to work hard to restrain herself from throwing herself out of her hiding spot and ripping the girl's invasive hands off her girlfriend. "Couldn't have been much of a threat, could I, if you came down here to talk to me instead of telling them to send me off. I know you really wanted to see me, Mistress; it's okay to admit that you missed me."

"You're out of line, Sheila," Beca warns sharply as the girl's fingers tread closer to her hair, and Chloe really doesn't understand how the bitch isn't backing up; with that kind of tone aimed at her, she'd been running for the hills with her tail between her legs. She resolved to be reasonable about this and not interfere, since she wouldn't think to presume that Beca can't handle herself, but suddenly those touches are getting a lot harder to ignore.

When Sheila's hand tries to slip into Beca's hair, curling at the base of her neck, Sheila crooning a murmured _I know you miss me, Mistress,_ Chloe's had more than enough.

She makes the decision in a split-second, hesitating for the space of a heartbeat to decide which persona to present before rounding the hallway corner at a brisk walk.

"There you are, babe!" she chirps brightly, smiling grimly inwardly when Sheila jumps back in surprise at her approach. She's still lingering a little too close for Chloe to be satisfied, nevertheless. "I was wondering where you'd gone off to. Remember we have to go get ready to pick up Robbie for babysitting at noon? — Oh!" she exclaims in mock surprise, pretending to only be noticing Sheila's presence for the first time. "Who's this?"

Beca is staring at her like she's not quite certain how she could possibly be doing this. There's a frown of disapproval wrinkling her forehead, but Chloe has had a while to learn to read her. There's definite amusement in her eyes, along with some vague reproach and more than a little awe.

"This is — ahem," Beca coughs to cover her growing laugh, "— this is Sheila. She was just going." The glare Sheila fastens on them would be enough to freeze Hell, but Chloe can't bring herself to care; the look on Beca's face is so far beyond worth it. Sheila stares between the two of them for a minute before she mutters an irritated _yeah, I'll be back,_ and stalks off down the corridor. A moment later, they can hear the side door slam.

Beca is staring at her in utter disbelief.

"You're unbelievable," is all she says, but Chloe can hear that she doesn't really mean it. "Unbelievable. What happened to you staying up there? There was a reason you were all supposed to stay up there." Chloe merely shrugs, opening her arms to let Beca squeeze in, which she does without hesitation. "You're _impossible._ "

"A girl can't always do as she's told," Chloe says nonchalantly. Beca's reply drifts up from her collarbone.

"That's what you think." Chloe ignores the shiver that runs through her at the subtle shift in tone. Now isn't the moment to let her submission run away with her, despite the sudden rise of possessiveness that prompted her to act a minute ago.

"Oh, is it?"

"You're impossible."

"You love me." She hiccups the moment that she says it in an odd catching of breath, and does her best not to tangibly freeze in Beca's embrace. Oh god, her words have run away with her again. Oh, god. It's way, way to early for any of this kind of talk, and now she's screwed things up, maybe, and she doesn't think that she can bear that.

Except Beca only lifts her head up, just enough to look her in the eye, and quirks an eyebrow mischievously with a superior little grin.

"We'll just see about that."

Another hiccup.

"We will?" She knows that her voice comes out high and squeaky. Beca hums, pulling her in a little closer and nuzzling the edge of her ear.

"Oh yes; I think we will."

* * *

 **Yes, yes, I threw in a Carmilla reference. Sorry not sorry. We'll probably be seeing more of them.  
**


	8. Distant Thunder

**A/N: Whomp, there it is.**

 **Listen, listen: major depression has a way of sucking your life away and making you not particularly concerned with getting it back. It's hard to get up the motivation to write a fic when you can't get up the motivation to roll over in bed, and this is kind of short and I'm not 100% happy with how it turned out, but I'm here, and I'm out of it for now, and here's this. Thank you all for being so patient with me and insisting that I continue this; without your encouragement, I don't know when I'd ever do it. Besides, it's Bechloe; I can't just leave it to the wolves (because I'm pretty sure those are the same wolves that rip out vocal chords, and I don't know about you, but I'm convinced that Aubrey sics them on people herself).**

* * *

Since the Sheila incident, Beca keeps finding countless excuses to touch her.

It happens when they brush past each other in the hallway, while they're making dinner, when they watch movies, and even, somehow, when they're brushing their teeth, which Chloe has up until now considered to be quite possibly the least exciting point of the day. While she finds the touching a little bewildering, Chloe is by no means surprised that Beca is at least exceedingly stubborn about it. No matter how complicated a position they might be in, Beca finds a way to ensure that at least _some_ body part is touching Chloe.

Coming from Beca, who can be perceived as slightly standoffish at the best of times, it's a little puzzling. Nevertheless, she determines at first not to say anything, supposing that Beca will come clean and explain herself when she's ready and that to push her will only result in vaguely muttered excuses.

By the end of the week, however, it's gotten to a point where Chloe can no longer ignore it. Still, she makes one last, valiant attempt at pretending that it's nothing out of the ordinary, but when Beca crams herself into the six-inch wedge between Chloe and the sofa arm when there's an entire love seat available for her use, Chloe has had enough.

"There's absolutely no way that that can actually be comfortable," she remarks once Beca has gotten settled. Beca, instead of answering, merely wrinkles her nose and wiggles down a little farther to be able to stretch out her legs. "Seriously, Becs, what's going on? You've been like this for days, and it's starting to make me wonder if there's something you're not telling me." Beca blinks up at her, startled.

"What?" Chloe looks to her in disbelief.

"You don't meant to tell me that you're actually not aware of what you're doing, right?" she asks incredulously. Beca's eyebrows crinkle up in that adorable way that they do when she's legitimately confused. "Beca, you've squeezed yourself into a space five times smaller than you are just to be next to me; you've been brushing up against me at weird moments since Thursday. What's going on?" Contrary to her expectations, Beca laughs. "I'm serious!" Chloe insists, not finding anything amusing about the situation. "You don't have some mysterious illness or something, do you?"

That, though, only makes Beca laugh harder, and it's a good two minutes before she lets up enough to get any words out.

"Does this have anything to do with the Sheila thing?" Chloe asks at last, but Beca only chuckles, wiping a few tears from the corners of her eyes.

"No, Chlo, it doesn't have anything to do with the Sheila thing, and no, I don't have a mysterious illness," she says finally with a hearty snicker. "And before you ask, no, I don't have attachment issues — well, I do," she amends with another chuckle, "but that's a different story. Chlo, I'm on my _period._ I get all cuddly; it's a thing." Now it's Chloe's turn to blink.

"Are you kidding me?" she says at last. "Why didn't you _tell_ me?" It's kind of hard for her not to start laughing, too, but the amazement is winning out. "Beca, that's ridiculous; I would have actively cuddled with you if you'd just said something." Beca shrugs, her shoulder slipping up between them and narrowly avoiding contact with Chloe's chin.

"Yeah, but I didn't necessarily need you to all the time," she says simply. "I just like contact, but if I _really_ need it, I'll tell you. Sometimes when I get really nasty cramps I just want to share a little warmth, but I need to not have a lot of pressure on my stomach or it makes me nauseous." Chloe sits up a little straighter; Beca slips down against the arm of the couch and crumples her face up in dismay.

"Do you have bad cramps right now?" she asks in concern. Beca's smile, when it reaches her, is soft.

"No, pet; I'm well past it now," she assures her; Chloe ducks her head, a little flustered. The idea of Beca in any kind of pain immediately stirred up a deeply rooted instinct to tend to her domme. Beca, never one to let anything slip past her with her years of experience, caught it immediately and addressed her as a submissive.

Sometimes Chloe wishes she weren't so perceptive. Then she remembers all that Beca's close attention has brought her, and she decides that it's a gift, after all.

"Hey, hey," Beca coaxes, seeing her slight embarrassment. Insistently, she guides Chloe to face her with a hand on her jaw. "It's okay; it's sweet that you react that you. The next time I have them, I'll tell you, okay? You can fuss over me as much as you want." Chloe has fastened her gaze automatically on her hands; the domme voice, even without its usual amount of force, is enough to make her drop eye contact immediately.

"What if I want to fuss over you now?" The words don't quite escape with her permission; she was considering voicing her desires, but was also about to ultimately decide against it. She isn't in her collar now, and she's not entirely sure how she feels about acknowledging going into full submissive mode without it. On the other hand, though, it's not like she doesn't do it often by accident. There are plenty of times, in fact, when she slips into submission without fully realizing it.

"What do you mean, Chloe?" There she goes again, perceptive as always; Chloe keeps her eyes down. "Chloe, look at me."

Dammit.

"I want to fuss over you," she grumbles. Beca laughs, the sound bright and clear in the little living room. "What's so funny?" Beca schools herself and fastens her eyes on her, seriously now, though a hint of mirth remains.

"Chlo, you can fuss over me whenever you want; you know that," she says easily. Chloe worries her lip.

"I know." Beca nudges her with an elbow.

"Then what's the problem?" she prompts. Chloe sighs; it's one of the hallmarks of a good relationship, being able to communicate, but it's also new to her. She and Mark didn't have this level of understanding and dedication, so it's constantly a little surprising to her. She's having to learn how to be comfortable with articulating the anxious little arguments she gets into with her own head, and so far, it's been a bit of slow going.

"I don't know where to draw the line," she cedes finally. A bit of hair has swung down from behind her ear and formed something of a curtain between them, which she finds helpful. It's hard to focus on figuring out her thoughts when Beca's looking at her like that. "Sometimes I catch myself getting all submissive when I'm not wearing the collar, and I think that maybe that's fine, but if we acknowledge it then it's a bigger deal, and there have to be rules, and it's a lot that I don't know how to navigate, and I don't want to push it, and then I get really thrown off," she finishes in a huff. Even through the curtain of hair, she can see Beca compose herself and narrow her focus into intently listening.

"I see," she says after giving Chloe a moment to breathe. "You know, it doesn't have to be such a big deal; like I said after our first night together, you don't have to expect anything out of it when you're not wearing the collar, but if you _want_ something more, that's fine, too. I just want to make sure that, outside the playroom, I only slip into domme mode when you explicitly ask for it. I set that boundary for myself because I don't want to overstep, but I'm never not in the mood to play the domme," she explains. "If that's what you're worried about, don't be; you're not going to bother me by getting me into a different headspace, because I'm always hovering halfway in there anyway."

That's fair enough, Chloe decides; it makes sense, anyway. She also frequently finds herself in both mindsets at once. Really, it probably _wouldn't_ be too disruptive if she just let herself slip into it whenever she feels the need.

She straightens up.

"Okay then," she says determinedly. "I'm going to fuss over you. What do you need?" Beca cracks a smile, but indulges her with a wave of her hand in the vague direction of the hallway.

"I could do with a hot bath." She grins rather mischievously, seemingly completely satisfied with this turn of events. "Maybe a back rub, some really expensive tea — " She's half-joking, but Chloe decides that if she's going to ham it up, she's going to have to put up with getting as good as she gives. Besides, she _wants_ to take a little time to be all doting and sweet, and Beca's providing her with the perfect opportunity.

"Wait here," she tells her seriously, and then proceeds to stand so quickly that Beca is nearly dislodged from the couch. She begins to protest, but by then, Chloe is already out of the room and halfway down the hall.

She'll use the bathroom in the guest room, not the master bedroom; the bathtub in there is bigger and leaves room for more than just a soak. Already, as she makes her way down the hall, she's planning out the scenario in detail. There's a pile of fluffy towels in the linen closet, and she knows their robes are on the back of Beca's bedroom door. She'll make tea later, so all she needs now are bath salts, or maybe bubbles — the trouble is, both, to her knowledge, are kept in the bathroom in the playroom, and she's not too sure about setting foot in there without Beca accompanying her.

Not wanting to risk it, she doubles back to the living room.

"Becs?"

"Mmm?" Beca has repositioned herself on the sofa so that her head is draped over the arm, her limbs flopping lazily every which way.

"The bubble bath is in the playroom." She doesn't need to elaborate; with another lazy wave, Beca gives her permission.

"That's fine, pet. Just don't touch anything," she adds with a sleepy attempt at a serious frown. "Don't dawdle, either; in and out like a virgin frat boy." She's getting a little loopy, not that she'll ever admit it; one thing Chloe's found is that, while Beca likes to present an image of collected sophistication, she loses all semblance of a cool facade when she's sleepy, home, or wearing her pajamas.

Giggling, Chloe sets back off down the hall, this time in the opposite direction towards the playroom. She's yet to venture farther than Stacie's room without Beca's guidance, so it feels distinctly like she's misbehaving even with Beca's permission. Bypassing the hall table, she keeps her eyes from wandering to the collar waiting there, knowing that if she stops to look at it she'll be tempted to pick it up and put it on. This isn't collared playtime; this is just her doing something nice for Beca in a . . . serving sort of way.

The door to the room feel especially heavy with the knowledge of what it guards, and Chloe slips through it quickly, listening to it close behind her with a muted click. For a moment, she's confused by the darkness before remembering that the room is windowless; feeling along the wall, she fumbles for the light switch.

She tries not to take anything in as she moves across the room. Despite the fact that she's been in here numerous times, stripped of both her inhibitions and her clothing, being in here without the collar and Beca's presence assuring her of her position brings a blush to her cheeks. It's partly why she has a hard time figuring out her role outside these four walls; sometimes it feels like the submissive part of herself is a separate entity, and sometimes it feels entirely her own. It's hard sorting out what her actual feelings are on the subject.

Driven by nervousness, she's in and out, as Beca says, quickly. She troops back down the hall again, arms now laden with bath salts, and tries not to dawdle in preparing the guest bathroom. It isn't long before she has the bath drawn, filled to a temperature that she's pretty sure is satisfactory.

(She should know; she nearly fell in head first trying to test it with her elbow.)

Chloe returns to the living room once again to escort Beca, who's lolling half-asleep and flicking through channels without stopping to see what's actually on. The domme grumbles a little as Chloe urges her to her feet, and protests so much once she's actually on them that Chloe finally relents. Leaning down, she hefts Beca into her arms without considerable effort and maneuvers her way back to the bathroom.

Once there, she deposits Beca on her feet, earning a disgruntled huff.

"Oh, please." She rolls her eyes. "You want to be pampered, so let me do it without complaining too much, okay?" Beca eyes her funnily at that, though, so she stops trying to unbutton her jeans for her and looks up. "What?"

"I can't figure out what's in your head," is what Beca offers. She's studying her intently, eyes narrowed in a little more concentration than usual. "You say you're feeling submissive, but you're not acting like it. You don't sound like it, at least." Instead of retorting, as she knows she might, with something snarky, Chloe smiles.

"Part of my job as a submissive is caring for my domme," she says softly. "Sometimes, that means not taking your shit." She rarely swears in Beca's presence — barring sex, of course — so she's half anticipating a reprimand, but Beca only looks at her. She's not sure when her hand migrated to her domme's cheek, but it did, and it rests there now, brushing up and down Beca's temple with her thumb.

"You're something else," is all Beca murmurs, though, and Chloe takes it to mean she understands. Pausing to drop a quick peck on her girlfriend's lips, she continues undressing her, stopping occasionally to instruct Beca to lift a foot so she can wrangle her out of her jeans.

"In you go," she orders when she's removed even the tie from her hair. Beca cocks an eyebrow.

"So I'm taking orders from you now, am I?" she questions. Reaching for the hem of her shirt, Chloe nods.

"Yes. Otherwise, I'll have to stay _outside_ the bathtub for your back rub, and that's not fun for anybody, now is it?" she says pointedly, and Beca's other eyebrow rises to meet the other.

"I suppose it isn't," she grants after a moment. The devilish look from earlier is back in her eyes. "I don't suppose you need a hand?" Chloe, sensing danger, backs away from the edge of the tub.

"No, I don't — Beca," she adds warningly when Beca's hand dips towards the bubbles. She narrows her eyes. "Beca, don't you dare — _Beca!"_ With a shriek, she ducks out of the way as Beca flings an entire armful of bubbles in her direction. "Beca, the towels!"

"You won't be needing them. What was that you said about not needing a hand? Here, let me just help you in — "

 _"Rebeca Mitchell, put me down!"_

* * *

An hour or two later, feeling significantly refreshed, the pair of them are devoting themselves to preparing lunch when a jingling sounds throughout the house. Chloe, unused to the doorbell and accustomed to seeing Stacie come and go as she pleases in varying states of undress, nearly slices a finger off. Beca stops just long enough to check that she's unhurt before setting aside her lettuce and making her way to the front door. Chloe follows at a safe distance, uncertain as to who might be calling at noon on a Wednesday and not sure whether she should make her presence known.

A moment later, a yelp echoes down the hall, followed by a shout and a squeal.

 _"Rick!"_

"Lil' B!" Deciding that the commotion is a product of excitement rather than terror, Chloe ventures the rest of the way to the door of the foyer and observes the scene.

There's something of a pig pile going on over the front stoop. From her angle, Chloe can see a balding head, an unfamiliar bra strap, and a wild head of hair that is most certainly Beca's. There's a pair of boots involved in the mayhem that she doesn't recognize, though, and far too much squirming at play for her to actually make out what's going on.

It takes a good minute for the tangle to resolve and settle into three distinct figures, one of which is Beca. The other two, however, are strangers; a short, bearded man Chloe judges to be in his mid forties, and a shorter, much younger woman with her wild black hair in disarray. The latter is sporting a pair of leather pants, and Chloe almost can't help her eyes from wandering southwards before remembering that her girlfriend is standing less than a yard away.

"Sorry, Chlo," Beca is apologizing, though a goofy grin remains plastered on her face. "I got a little carried away. This is my Uncle Rick — you've heard about Uncle Rick — and his friend Carmilla."

"It's nice to meet you," Chloe greets them both.

"Actually, Beca and I know of each other through community circles," Carmilla breaks in in a low, smooth voice. "We've never met in person, but I ran into Rick a few years ago at a family gathering of my girlfriend's and we kind of hit it off. Coincidence, I suppose, but the community's small enough that you can always find connections if you know where to look. It was helpful for her, too, to find out there was someone in her family who was into the lifestyle." Chloe hums in agreement, but she's concentrating; something about Carmilla's name and circumstance seems vaguely familiar.

"Is your girlfriend . . . ?" she starts slowly.

"Laura?" Carmilla supplies helpfully. "She told me about the class the other day; it sounds like you guys really get into discussing dynamics. Hearing from other people has really helped her get more comfortable with it." The name clicks, now, and Chloe can see distinctly the girl with honey-colored hair raising her hand in the back of the room. _I'm new to the scene, and Carm's been part of it for a while._

"I'm glad she's gotten more comfortable," Chloe replies happily. She is; from the little she witnessed last week, Laura seemed eager to become at ease with her submission. She knows firsthand how difficult that can sometimes be. She's hardly known Carmilla for a hot second, but already she's picking up the aura of a good domme. She's started to pick up on it, and she's determined that it's often something about the eyes. That's where, she's found, the devotion often shows.

"Rick, Stacie, and I have been talking about what we'd do if and when he came to town, and we decided we'd like to go shopping." There's something distinct about the domme voice, Chloe has come to recognize, that differentiates regular activities from kinky ones, and the tone in Beca's voice most definitely signifies something other than grocery shopping.

"Shopping," Chloe parrots, and watches Carmilla's lips twist into a smirk.

 _"Shopping,"_ she confirms, and with the look that comes into the three pairs of eyes in front of her, Chloe is abruptly intensely aware that she's in the presence of three dominants.

Her gaze travels to Beca, who is practically lit up with anticipation and who, with her hair still damp and her shoulders loose and relaxed, looks something of the picture of domestic bliss. She's wearing a _Ramones_ tee shirt, an old favorite of hers that she busts out only when she's feeling particularly comfortable, and combine that with the look in her eyes and Chloe is intensely aware, in the same way, that there's something going on in her chest that's growing a little too fluffy for safety.

* * *

Their shopping adventure turns out to be one of the most awkward situations Chloe has ever suffered through. With every item they pause beside on the shelves — Stacie unable to refrain from making a crude comment each time — she grows more flustered, until finally she's blushing so fiercely that Carmilla sees fit to interfere. She pulls Chloe aside when Beca is otherwise occupied with a rack of deeply suggestive outfits, a mildly amused set to her mouth.

"Honey, you've got to loosen up," she says patiently. "You realize that you've been naked and bound with this woman on a regular basis, right?" Shifting subtly away from a shelf of dildos, Chloe huffs.

"I do realize that," she says simply. Carmilla nods.

"And?"

"And nothing," Chloe replies, edging away from the strap on swinging dangerously close to her elbow. "I'd rather keep my private life private." Carmilla raises an eyebrow, but seems to sense the futility in pushing any further.

Rick, on the other hand, doesn't give her the same courtesy. They exchanged basic pleasantries in the car and haven't spoken beyond that, but from what Chloe caught of his conversation with Beca, and of the general air he emits, she's decided he's a friendly, well-rounded, if slightly boisterous person. In short, she believes they'll get on well.

The more assertive part of him, though, makes itself known when he corners her as Beca, Stacie, and Carmilla are wrapping up their shopping and heading towards the checkout.

"I've heard a lot about you, kid," he says in an amicable sort of way. Chloe is standing pretending to consider a rack of maid costumes, which is by a mile the least blush-inducing item to behold. He's sidled up to her and mimicked her stance, arms crossed in contemplation. "You've done my Beca a world of good." It's a little bit of a leap from _it's nice to meet you_ , but Chloe supposes she's learned that most dominants don't make a habit of beating around the bush.

"How do you mean?" she asks, though, because from what she can tell Beca was doing just fine before she came along. They're not exactly facing each other, but she can see Rick quirk an eyebrow.

"Seriously?" he asks. It's got enough incredulity that she turns to him, and his gaze searches her for a moment before settling. "You're the only one who's ever stuck around longer than a week, kid; all she's ever done with subs is training. And you're not just her submissive, either. You're a damned fool if you don't see it." Chloe has a vague, slightly nervous feeling that she knows precisely what he's talking about, but she decides to play dumb on the off chance that he's not as perceptive as he looks.

"See what?" Rick actually snorts.

"How utterly in love with you she is, you idiot," he tells her bluntly, and Chloe averts her eyes. _Dammit._

"Oh." She doesn't really know how else to respond, because her heart's doing flips like it's in the damn Olympics and something warm has spread through her that's most definitely not a reaction to the maid costumes.

She should have seen this coming, she thinks; it hasn't been that long, but the situation is unique, and she's always been a believer in love being the kind of thing that follows no rules. They're _living together,_ for goodness' sake, and somehow have managed not to murder one another despite the fact that they were actual, complete strangers when she arrived. Of course, there are ups and downs as there would be with anyone; Chloe's still stuck in trying to navigate her own understanding of her role in any relationship, and Beca can get so absorbed in what she's doing that she often shuts everything else out. Despite that, though, they seem to be actually _working._

Still, while the idea makes something joyful squeeze up inside her, she won't deny that it's also a little terrifying.

"We haven't been together that long." She throws Rick the bone with the idea that maybe he'll reconsider and tell her that yes, the potential is there, but they've not yet reached the full-commitment rom-com level of dedication.

He sends her a look, though, that lets her know the effort is entirely futile.

"I married my first wife after seven months," he tells her, and she can't help cracking a grin.

"I see that lasted," she serves back. His eyes are twinkling.

"Not exactly," he admits, but he's wearing that same roguish grin that Beca gets when she knows she's won the fight. "Sometimes something better comes along."

"Did you wait eight months with something better?" she asks him.

"I waited three," he tells her, and winks hugely at her before bolting for the checkout before she can utter another word.

By the end of their trip, they each walk away from the store with roughly three bags of _merchandise,_ which actually turn out to be surprisingly subtle. There's nothing on them to indicate that they came from the kind of shop they did. It's nothing like the place that Beca and Chloe frequented the first time they went shopping together; that place was more subtle, and perhaps geared a little more towards theory than practice, if Chloe can understand it that way.

It's Stacie's idea to attend a show, which Chloe presumes at first to be a Broadway reference, but soon finds has nothing whatsoever to do with _Wicked._ They end up at a burlesque club, which seems to delight Carmilla to no end. Chloe, for one, isn't going to deny her fascination. These girls are _athletes._ She's also not going to pretend she's not into the flimsy outfits, because hello, she's into women, and these women are gorgeous and confident and incredibly fit and it's really quite alluring.

She's a little surprised, though, at the freedom with which her companions indulge and seem to expect her to do the same. Mark was always . . . jealous, to put it mildly. Chloe's always been a free spirit, in her own humble opinion, and his overbearing possessiveness made her feel cloistered and uncomfortable, but also somehow guilty. That's not to say that Beca's not possessive, because of course she is, but it's different somehow. It's more _you're mine_ and less _you're not theirs,_ and maybe there shouldn't be a difference, but there is.

Chloe stays leaning against Beca throughout the show. Carmilla seems to have some clout, so they've managed to acquire a table entirely to themselves. It's dark and loud and crowded, but in a way that gets Chloe's blood pumping with excitement. It's that sort of ecstatic feeling of anticipation that comes with special occasions where she feels like she can accomplish anything. Leaning against Beca, she feels her blood tingle in her veins where their arms brush, hot and electric and frantic. The lights flash and occasionally catch in her irises, and she sees that the look on Beca's face as she watches the dance is as wild and intense as the feeling in her chest.

There's something _about_ tonight. She feels wanton and irrational and alive, like she wants to go speeding down the highway along the water and blast loud music or dance in the city streets.

Maybe Rick's right; maybe they _are_ in love, because they're so in sync right now that without even looking at her, Chloe can feel the pressure building in Beca at precisely the same rate, her blood zinging at the same frequency. She knocks back one drink like it's water, then lays off because she doesn't _need_ it and she's afraid that if she drinks any more this wondrous feeling might be dulled.

When the show comes to an end, Chloe registers vague disappointment, but she notes that the euphoria she's feeling doesn't vanish. It still lingers as they drop Stacie off at Aubrey's and pause at the metro station to let off Rick and Carmilla. She listens a little dizzily as they exchange goodbyes. Beca extends the offer of brunch, but both decline, Rick saying that he has to be up before dawn to catch an early train back to Boston, and Carmilla makes a quip about nocturnal habits with a chuckle that suggests there's something in the way of a long-running joke behind it. When Chloe says so, she confirms, _"very long,"_ with something of a snicker, and then they disappear into the whirl of bodies and neon lights and wailing taxi horns.

She and Beca make it home, but only just.

She slams Beca against the door as soon as they walk in, feeling eight feet tall and powerful and thrumming with electric energy. As she kisses up a smooth neck to pouty lips, Beca smirks up at her a little.

"Who knew you had it in you to dominate, Red," she teases, and Chloe growls and snags her wrists where her hands are sneaking their way under her shirt.

"You're short," is what she mumbles in response as she dives back into the heavy, panting kiss. Beca chuckles.

"So?" It takes Chloe a moment for her brain to catch up with her words; she's in an unfamiliar, floaty headspace somewhere between awake and autopilot.

"So I'm _bigger_ than you," she concludes finally, and presses herself hot and close and heavy just to make a point. Beca chuckles again, low in her throat; with a hiss when Chloe's fingertips brush the sides of her breasts, she surges up to kiss her once again. Their skin together feels burning hot and the denim of her jeans is cloistering. She wastes no time, though, and shoves a hand into Beca's underwear the second she's got her button undone.

Beca's head falls back against the door with a _thunk_ and a groan. It's _hot,_ and _she's_ hot, slick and silky, and Chloe can't help but stare at her parted lips through which tight gasps are slipping, eyelids bruised purple and fingers fluttering at her sides and up into the air like the helpless butterfly she saw once on the subway, like if she feels anything more of the world she might just break into pieces and fly away.

She remembers that train ride, remembers feeling a little frantic at having to get off at her stop because the butterfly was still there and to get off meant she would _miss_ it. Beca's neck is flushed, the scent of her skin and breath and the collar of her shirt aching and comfortable and wondrous. She's beautiful and caught up in rapture and in this moment so perfectly inarguably _hers_ , suddenly, Chloe understands that this is one of those rare and untouchable things that she doesn't want to miss.

 _"I think I might love you."_ The words are ghosted out from between parched lips through the thin, magnified space between them and into the short gasp Beca draws in like burning winter air. They're small in the air but brush it in a way that seems to change its texture, and the oxygen grows warmer, somehow.

Eyes scrunched closed, biting her lip, a second away from the edge, Beca pauses, and smiles through the twisting of pleasure behind her eyes.

"I think I might know the feeling," she whispers back, and then the words die on a groan and the waves break around them with a crash and everything floods.


End file.
